


Rise of the Wolf

by tklivory



Series: Beyond Thedas [1]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, Arlathan, Betrayal, Dalish, Dragon Age Lore, Elvhen, Elvhenan, F/M, Lore - Freeform, Love, Love/Hate, Mahariel - Freeform, Sexual Content, Speculative, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-05
Updated: 2013-03-24
Packaged: 2017-12-04 08:40:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 45,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/708765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tklivory/pseuds/tklivory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It would take more than the blood magic of the Tevinter Imperium to destroy the great Elvhen nation of Elvhenan. As the Dreadful Wolf again stalks the streets of Arlathan and the voices of the Creators fade into the Beyond, Tallathian of Arlathan must salvage what she can of the greatest civilization of the Elvhen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU imagining of the fall of the city of Arlathan, an event which took place approximately 2000 years before the events of Dragon Age: Origins. The story and many of its elements are written with an assumption that, much like our world, records of the era in question that survive to the time we 'see' in the games were written to benefit the winners of history (in this case, the Tevinter Imperium) rather than reflect what was true at the time. Given how much our own records disagree over events that happened a mere two centuries ago, I always viewed all Codex entries regarding Arlathan and its fall with a bit of skepticism.
> 
> This work was written to present a different viewpoint concerning the fall of Arlathan, one unclouded by eons of history told by the other side. Due to this, almost all characters are OC, though there is a powerful tie-in to the events of the Dragon Age games and the universe within which they operate.

 

_(Scorched earth by[arcipello](http://arcipello.deviantart.com/art/Scorched-earth-304068383))_

.~^~.

 

Tallathian silently watched the glow of the burning city from the hilltop, eyes stinging as tendrils of smoke caressed her. The hood of her cloak only partially obscured the sight of the destruction of her home, a home that she had seen built from the first stone and tree. Unshed tears stood in her eyes as she fought to understand the magnitude of her own failure and the depth of the betrayal she had committed. The heat from the fire reached her even across the great distance, and the low rumbling told her that the ground still shook as the netherworld slowly pulled the city into its cold, uncaring grasp.

A hand fell on her shoulder then, a hand that managed to convey a possessive hunger and absolute command through its tight grip. His shadow leaned close to her, and the soft, insouciant voice murmured into her delicately pointed ear, "Come, my pet. We have far yet to travel, this night."  
  
She turned and regarded him for a moment, her eyes searching for and finding the amber glow of his own. "Master, please..." she whispered, unwilling to take that first step on their journey away from the only home she had known for so long. "I-"  
  
A hand slashed across her face, the open palm lessening none of the sting, none of the pain. Blood trickled down her cheek from the deep wounds left by his claws. The disdain was clear in his voice as he said, "Do you not think you have done enough?" Without waiting for an answer, he turned and strode into the trees, away from the fires and chasms behind.  
  
She stood frozen in place as his words scorched her mind far more powerfully than the blow. The tears came then, silent and unbidden, covering her cheeks as the full import of her actions finally hit her. Her shoulders slumped as she took first one shuddering breath, then another.  _I have no right to mourn,_ she thought in despair. Clutching the bag at her side to reassure herself that the seeds within were unharmed, she lifted her head and discerned a faint outline as he disappeared into the forest. Without looking back, she forced her feet to follow in his footsteps. The burden grew heavier on her shoulders as she moved forward, and the regret within her breast threatened to stifle the beat of her heart. Yet she moved forward as her Master bade, for none could deny the Master.  
  
And behind them, burning before the might of Tevinter, Arlathan slowly fell into darkness.


	2. The Hunt Begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "To behold Arlathan is to behold perfection."
> 
> -Tevarus, First Scholar to Archon Darinius

.~^~.

He sat on a cliff overlooking the vast forest below, enjoying the sensation of the wind ruffling his fur. At this distance, it would take one with keen eyes and certain knowledge to be able to discern the creations of hand rather than time, the shapes of design rather than chance. A more innocent observer would see only beauty unparalleled elsewhere in Thedas. Lush green dominated, dappled and enhanced by the exotic jewel tones and soft pastels of flowers and wildlife. Dedication and deduction allowed the observer to find the subtle walls of white marble, polished granite, and glittering quartz that served to shape the avenues and dwellings of Arlathan.  
  
The watcher, however, belonged to those who knew the truth of the seemingly innocuous forest below. He had, after all, been present when the first seed and the first stone had been placed in the center of a vast empty plain, a modest beginning for the greatest city of Elvhenan, the pride of the Elvhen and the centerpiece of their world. He had stood beside his fellows, his  _clan_ , as they planted the possibility of hope for all tomorrows. He closed his eyes and lowered his muzzle, saddened at the memory. It had been the last time they were all together, those he considered his family, and the Founding had been the last great venture they had embarked upon together, this place of the People:  _Elvhenan_.  
  
Heaving a great sigh, the wolf stood and began moving down a hidden path to the valley floor. It had been several aeons since he had last walked the avenues and byways of the city of they who had once been his people.  _It is time,_  he mused as he moved, changing from four legs to two.  _It is past time. The change is coming._  
  
His stride took him within the outer borders of Arlathan, borders warded not by guards but by the ever-watchful eyes of the Guardians. The statues stood looking outward, ever outward, their stony gaze of pulsating light missing nothing which did not belong in the capital city of the Elvhen. He smiled slightly.  _Well, it may have been a few aeons since I have walked these streets, but the trees accept me, and therefore, I belong._ It was not the eldritch guardians that he feared, however, but the Elvhen themselves, misled as they were in their opinion of them. For that purpose, he had taken precautions with his appearance, seeking to avoid notice. He was, he knew, totally forgettable - brown hair, brown eyes, sturdy yet plain clothes, presentable but not handsome of features, confident but not cocky. Easy to see, but even easier to forget, and that suited his purpose perfectly.  
  
He was, first and foremost a hunter, after all, and any good hunter knew that the most important part of the hunt was to avoid being noticed by the prey.  
  
As he progressed through the city, he settled into the watchful attitude of a predator - seeing everything, preparing himself for action, but waiting for the proper moment. The city and its people had changed, of course, since his last time here, aeons before, for even those of Elvhenan, despite their immortality and their seeming ability to ignore the ravages of time, felt the flow of time and reacted unknowingly to it. There was a new tension in the air, one that he had never noticed before, a tension for which he suspected he already knew the root cause.  
  
Tevinter.  
  
He never heard the word spoken, but he saw it in the occasional strained tone, the darting eyes, the stilted gestures whenever any related topic came up. The home of these strange new beings, these  _humans_ , Tevinter was a topic of conversation that both horrified and fascinated the residents of Arlathan. To have a life of but a span,  _less_  than a span, was inconceivable to the Elvhen outside of tragedy - but these humans, these  _shemlen_ , found it natural,  _normal_. And more... the condition somehow seemed... contagious. He heard words that were new to the Elvish tongue, words adapted from outside of Arlathan, taken from the  _shemlen_  themselves:  _illness, disease, old age._  
  
Death.  
  
Here in the heart of Elvhenan, where none from the Tevinter Imperium had ever come save for the occasional reluctantly welcomed scholar or Imperial Ambassador, these words were, naturally, naught but rumor and fear: a whisper in the night, a story from the border cities of Elvhenan: a shadow as real as the dangers that lay in the Beyond, in death and in dreams.  
  
He shook his head, smiling to himself.  _And I know how real_ those _dangers can be,_  he mused.  
  
Then an odd thing happened as he entered the center of the city that surrounded the Hall Outside Time: all of the hints he had been detecting stopped. The tension that hummed so loudly in the surrounding areas of Arlathan melted away, and it was as it had always been for the countless aeons since the First Tree and Stone had established the city's creation. The serenity of the Councilors permeated the area, wiping away such trivialities and soothing away fears.  _Believe in the Creators_ , whispered the humming in the air.  _They will protect you._  
  
His hackles rose. This was  _wrong_ , that such a dire problem could be not only ignored but actively pushed away from awareness. He barely stopped the deep growl that started to emanate from his throat.  _You have forgotten the first lesson, children of my brothers and sisters. Trust no one._  He grimaced.  _Even the Ancient Ones were once our allies, and now..._  
  
He paused in the shade of one of the Second Trees, ostensibly to admire the First Tree in all its glory. It was magnificent, after all, rising above all else in the city save for the Hall Outside Time itself. Planted on the day that the Hall had begun construction, the tree had grown in tandem with the fantastic structure of the Hall, matching it foot for foot of height, until they both towered far above all else in Arlathan, dominating the horizon and demanding the attention of all who entered the city. A testament to the patience and civilization of the Elvhen and a monument to their ancient ways, they were awe-inspiring to the onlooker.  
  
And so, he took a moment to seem to admire them, as any Elvhen recently arrived in Arlathan would. In reality, though, he watched the door of the Hall , taking note of the white sheen of the door, indicating activity behind the portal.  _They are inside,_  w _hich means that my prey is within as well._  He glanced at the markers outside the door, the ones used to determine the status of the Council session currently being held within the Hall.  _Two hands spent of a five hand session. That should give me plenty of time to prepare for the Hunt once she emerges_. He grinned in anticipation.  _This prey is neither young nor foolish._  
  
Turning away, he moved into the more active portions of Arlathan, away from the center of the city.  _Soon, my delightful little quarry. Soon._  
   
.~^~.   
  
Tallathian threw her head back and closed her eyes, content to let the sun caress her features. Around her the sounds of birds chirping and small animals rustling in the underbrush filled the air with a quiet susurration of life that soothed her agitation. As her breathing and heartrate slowed to a more temperate pace, she allowed a rueful smile to escape.  _Every single time,_  she mused.  _How do they manage to get me so riled every single time?_  
  
Continuing her deep breathing, she moved away from the Hall Outside Time and began the trek to her own abode in the Rose District. Around her the business of Arlathan was conducted, filling the center of the city with bustling activity as merchants, philosophers, artists and mages moved in their given tasks. The hum of life, usually calming, only served to irritate her frayed nerves further. She sighed forcefully, attempting to dispel the discontent along with her breath.  _I think a trip to one of the Gardens is in order,_  she mused. A few hours with a tart bilberry wine while watching twilight give way to the expanse of stars above might be  _just_  what she needed to remove the last vestiges of tension that was the legacy of a typical Council Session. _Perhaps the Garden of Serenity,_  she mused.  _I do so love resonating with the_ halla  _when I am in need of soothing._  Her muscles relaxed just thinking of the graceful beings with their elegant horns and still, calm thoughts.  _And I can check on_ Wind over Still Waters.  _She_ is _expecting her firstborn soon._  
  
Giving a short, brisk nod, she continued on her way, now looking forward to a quiet evening surrounded by creatures that asked for friendship and nothing more.  _A nice change of pace, indeed._  
  
"High Councilor!"  
  
Forcing her spine to relax from its instinctual stiffening, Tallathian smoothed the smile from her mouth and the frown from her brows as she turned to the voice behind her. "Yes?" she inquired before she recognized him, then cocked an eyebrow as she realized who had addressed her. "Councilor Liniathalan. How may I serve you?"  
  
The other elf drew to a halt beside her, not a hair our of place in the elaborate style that flowed to his waist. His clothing, always refined, reflected the many hands of days he had sat in the Council Chamber, but otherwise he appeared to be freshly risen from bed. He offered a quick greeting of respect to Tallathian, his fingertips brushing over the palms she presented to him, before he inclined his head and began with a formal greeting, "The blessings of Those We Serve upon you, High Councilor Tallathian. May your Creator find you in good health and peace this day."  
  
She smiled in response. "And may your Creator grant you blessing and purpose." Her gaze flickered downward to where his fingertips still lingered on her palms, then back up. She was taken aback by the flash of heat she saw in the depths of the burnished gold of his eyes. Lowering her hands, she said, "I see we survived another Council session."  
  
The deprecating flick of his elegant hands informed her of his opinion of the Session and the behavior of their fellow Councilors. "It is Sessions like that one that make me wonder why I worked so hard to become a Councilor in the first place. All the talking, the accusations, the blaming-- You would think that we've never encountered a new race before. I wonder if these  _shemlen_ realize how much of our time they consume." His rich chuckle filled the air around them. "Of course, there are compensations to attending the Sessions." His gaze caught and held her own. An inexplicable shiver ran down her spine as he added in a low, deep voice, "You were very passionate in your pleading, Councilor Tallathian. It was quite stimulating to behold."  
  
Fighting the sudden urge to stammer, she inclined her head graciously. "You are too kind, Councilor."  
  
"Please," he demurred, bowing slightly to her, "Call me Liniathalan."  
  
"As you will," she murmured, taken aback. He was, by the standards of their people, quite young, his age measuring only a few spans - he had not even seen a full aeon elapse as of yet. As a member of the Council for two scant spans, he was by far the most junior member of the Council of Arlathan, yet he had already earned a reputation within the Hall for his steady words of wisdom and ability to find reasonable compromise when those older and theoretically wiser than he refused to even entertain the notion. It was not only his fellow Councilors from which he had earned approbation, of course, but the general populace of Arlathan as well. A talented mage, he already equaled in skill those who had been practitioners for several aeons, and still managed to exude an air of quiet humility that served to disarm any resentment that may have lingered for such a young elf to achieve so much in so short a time.  
  
If she were not absolutely sure that he was exactly as he seemed, she would suspect him to be hiding something.  _After all,_  she mused as her eyes idly scrutinized his handsome features and fine form,  _do I not intimately know the nature of secrets?_  
  
His youth and vigor were in direct contrast to herself, one of less than a handful of Elvhen from the time of the Founding that had not yet sought the waking sleep of  _uthenera_ , and the only woman of that select group who had still not done so. In the quiet of her heart, she had to admit that in recent years, the call to enter the long sleep was becoming more and more compelling as it was demonstrated to her that Arlathan required her services and knowledge with less urgency as time progressed. Although aware of the curiosity of others at her reticence to go to her rest, she ignored it and carried out her duties, unable, even in her heart of hearts, to acknowledge what had passed between herself and her Master.  
  
So she remained awake. Awake, alone, and increasingly weary of the life eternal that was her duty and her burden.  
And now, this vibrant, young, and above all  _masculine_  elf was granting her leave to address him informally, a request that, though in and of itself not a measure of courting behavior, was often a precursor to such. Certainly, between two Elvhen of such disparate ages, it was almost forward.  
  
During the course of their conversation, they had wandered out of the way of traffic into a small gardened alcove, one of many that abutted the wide streets and graceful lanes of Arlathan. Just as she realized that they were essentially alone, he grasped one of her hands in his own and began slowly stroking the palm of her hand in a shockingly intimate fashion. She glanced down at the point where their hands interlocked, suddenly aware of the heat emanating from his body, and raised her eyes to find a piercing golden stare regarding her. "My lady," he murmured as he slowly continued stoking the fire she had thought long extinguished, "I wonder if you would do me the great honor of accompanying me to the Fields of Beauty on the evening of Spring Awakening?"  
  
Eyes widening in surprise, she regarded him silently for a moment as she realized with sudden force that he  _was_  proposing to court her! She, who hadn't had anyone look at her in that fashion for... well, for  _aeons_  that she could recall. Trying to disguise her surprise at the request, she lowered her chin without removing her eyes from his face. He was certainly handsome, she would grant him that, with his golden gaze and supple way of moving, but it was so sudden. "Laniathalan, I-"  
  
Abruptly he placed a finger over her lips, quelling her incipient refusal. "I realize that this is very sudden, my lady. However, I assure you I have very good reasons for my actions." A gleam entered his eyes, one she could not quite interpret but that sent a delicious thrill through her. "Shall we meet at twilight in the Fields on the day of Awakening, then, my lady? The Council will not meet for a while yet, and I can think of no greater pleasure than to spend some of the interim time in your company."  
  
An almost palpable sense of longing gripped Tallathian. Not for  _him_  in particular, necessarily, but for that feeling of desire, of anticipation, of  _want: t_ o feel that again, to feel fully  _alive_... She hadn't seen desire directed towards her in another's eyes since...  
  
She shivered slightly. Forcing herself to meet his gaze, she whispered, "Yes."  
  
A slow smile claimed his lips. Taking his finger from her lips, he erotically traced the line of her jaw, the curve of her neck, and a slow, sensuous path down her arm before ending with a completely straightforward palm-to-palm clasp that was the normal method of signalling an end to the current conversation. She fought to keep her quickened breath and racing pulse hidden from public scrutiny as she bowed her head slightly towards him. The glint in his eyes, however, showed that he, at least, had noticed his effect on her. "Until then, Tallathian." Leaning forward ever so slightly, he lowered his voice. "I look forward to our meeting."  
  
Then, as if he had done nothing more than consult with her on Council's business, he bowed smoothly and walked away, leaving her to fight a sudden urge to cover her cheeks with her hands.  
  
She most  _definitely_ needed to spend some time in the Garden of Serenity before returning home, or she knew that rest would elude her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An explanation of Elven time as kept in Arlathan:  
> hand - five days  
> span - 100 years  
> aeon - 1000 years 
> 
> .~^~. 
> 
> Elvhen terms: 
> 
> uthenera - 'waking sleep', a way for the immortal Elvhen to rest for a while from the burdens of the world  
> shemlen - 'quick children', a word for humans because they live such short lives  
> Creators - the Gods of the Elvhen


	3. A Time to Mourn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Do not go gentle into that good night. ... Rage, rage against the dying of the light."
> 
> \- Dylan Thomas

 

 

 

_(artwork by[tHeSpEcIaLhEaD](http://thespecialhead.deviantart.com/))_

_.~^~._

She arrived at the Garden of Serenity in a much calmer state of mind than earlier. Her flustered condition had faded from tingly anticipation into a sensation akin to wary caution. Once out of his presence, practicality had begun to assert itself.  _He is the youngest Councilor,_  she told herself sternly.  _I am one of the five High Councilors. He is young and politically savvy, and has a knack for forming unlikely but advantageous alliances within the Council. This matter before the Council affects all of Elvhenan, and indeed all of Thedas. Someone as ambitious as he would want to gain as much influence over the proceedings as possible, and what better target than a High Councilor known?_  
  
And so her thoughts diminished the fire that had almost burned anew from its long dormancy, logic explaining away the odd sensation that had uncoiled in the pit of her stomach.  
  
The sun was finally setting, lighting the sky afire with brilliant reds, oranges, and violets in a combination that elsewhere would be garish instead of breathtaking. Third Trees surrounded her, singing quietly in contentment as their green and gold leaves swayed gently before a wind scented with lavender, elfroot and thyme. Occasionally flashes of white moved through the trees as  _halla_  went about their duties. A constant murmur of birds, squirrels, and other small creatures dancing about in their home of branches, leaves and blossoms brought a smile to her lips.  _Life,_  she mused. Closing her eyes, she stretched her arms up and out, holding the position for an endless moment while she  _reached_  and pulled the energy of that beauty around her within. _Life without care, without fear, without deceit._  Slowly releasing her arms from their position, she thought wistfully,  _How I envy them._  
  
 _*Ah, but our lives are not so free of pain as you think, Fleet of Foot,*_  a voice whispered in her mind.  
  
Opening her eyes, Tallathian smiled at the  _halla_  that had come to stand before her. "I never thought you free of pain, dear one. Merely free of the agony of pain."  
  
The  _halla_  shook her head. A light glissando in Tallathian's mind demonstrated the  _halla'_ s amusement at the elf's distinction. * _You are weary. Come, walk with me. For now, let us exist as the Creators intended: amidst the life around us.*_  
  
Tallathian readily acquiesced to that suggestion, falling in beside the  _halla_ as they walked further into the Garden. Pausing only to pick up a strategically placed flask of bilberry wine, left there by the Elvhen gardeners for those who chose to visit this small paradise, she kept pace with the ponderous gait of the  _halla,_  casually scrutinizing the increasing girth of her friend. She placed her hand on the flank of the other, feeling the new life moving beneath her fingers. As they walked through the Garden, she felt the constant flow of intuition and images moving between the life within the womb and his mother, the knowledge of life and duty that was being passed on to the young calf even before he made his entrance into the world. She fell into a trance as  _Wind over Still Waters_  allowed her to enter the flow of thought, bringing her willingly into the wordless circle of unstinting love and acceptance.  
  
Eternity is the beauty of endless moments. Pity she could not feel such peace among her own people.  
  
Eventually they came to a grove of trees deep within the Garden. At its center stood a Second Tree, one of the trees planted from a seed given by the First Tree.  _Wind over Still Waters_  slowly lay down at the foot of the tree, content to rest her increasingly unwieldy body. Tallathian went to the tree, placed her hands on the trunk, and greeted it wordlessly. She contemplated the Tree, as she always did when visiting this particular Garden, recalling the moment she had laid its seed in the soil and first cajoled the awareness  _within_  the seed to awaken. Even now, she felt that awareness, buried deep in the slow measures of time to which the Second Trees naturally moved, and tried to recollect how many aeons had passed since she first coaxed the earth to accept the seed.  
  
Why do I feel the passage of time of late, I wonder? she thought silently.  
  
* _You are too wise to contemplate that question this night,*_  the  _halla_  remarked with a tinge of reproach.  
  
"Oh?" she said as she settled onto the ground beside her friend. "And why is that?"  
  
The  _halla_  nudged her shoulder lightly, though the tone of her mind-voice was sad. * _You have forgotten, then, what night this is?*_  
  
She suddenly stilled as the  _halla_ 's statement abruptly reminded her of the reason for her restlessness. The Council Session and Liniathalan's unexpected attentions had almost driven it from her mind. Sighing, she said, "No, I have not forgotten." Sipping from her flask, she contemplated the stars through the expansive branches of the Second Tree towering above them. "How can I forget?"  
  
Resting her nose on Tallathian's arm,  _Wind over Still Waters_  tried to comfort her.  _*As long as you remember, as long as you breathe, as long as you learn, it will not happen again.*_  
  
She looked down into the lambent eyes of her companion. "But what of the others, my friend? Sometimes I feel as if they have forgotten the sins of the Elvhen. When we talk of the Tevinter in the Council, I see the same fear and hear the same arguments." She turned to gaze upwards again, gazing without truly  _seeing_  into the night. "I will never forget. I  _can_  never forget." Her chin firmed. "And I will never let it happen again."  
  
Holding the wine flask above her head, she lightly wove magic into it and through it, changing its nature as she did every span when she memorialized the death of the Minauri _._  Bitter vinegar now resided in the flask, a reminder that what had once been sweet had soured, all those long years ago. Bringing the flask and its contents to her lips, she smelled the tart, acrid scent and bowed her head momentarily. Speaking to those long gone, she whispered, "I am sorry I could not save you. I will carry my sorrow for all of time, as I carry your memory. Rest in peace, and may the Beyond hold you in peace and comfort."  
  
Slowly the astringent liquid trickled down her throat, and she fought the urge to gag, accepting the sensation as part of the small penance she exacted upon herself as one who had survived when an entire race of beings had perished. Once the flask was emptied, she closed her eyes and sat perfectly still, allowing the memories to wash over her. In agonizing detail, she recalled the plaintive cries of those dead and dying, their lives bleeding out from the wounds inflicted by Elvhen swords and arrows. The flames had burned fiercely as an entire civilization burned to the ground in a single night, never to rise again.  
  
She remembered her powerlessness to prevent it.  
  
"There are so few of us still awake that were there," she mused. "And I am but one of two who yet sits on the Council. All the others have withdrawn, choosing to contemplate the past rather than the future." She sighed heavily. "I wonder how long it will be until I will be the only one left who has no history, only memories."  
  
* _Time is the only answer for that, I'm afraid,*_  the  _halla_ beside her replied.  
  
She stared once more at the stars, trying to remember what they had looked like at the time she had come into the world. "That is what I fear the most," she whispered.

 

.~^~. 

  
She arrived home in a pensive frame of mind. Removing her wrinkled pants and tunic, she settled a long flowing gown of pure silver silk over her body. Her hands unwound her knee-length hair from its customary tight coil around her head and allowed its length to fall gently down her back. Revelling in the knowledge that the next Council Session was several hands of days away, she stretched luxuriantly and twirled in place, enjoying the cool air around her as it signaled the presence of the night and the stars, of darkness and secrets.  
  
Shaking her head slightly in an attempt to clear the last vestiges of clouded thought, she turned and proceeded down the small hallway in the back of her house, her feet seeking, without any conscious direction from her mind, the safety of her sanctum. Arriving at an apparent dead end decorated only by some interweaving vines, she paused and considered the empty corridor for a few seconds before waving her hand in a peculiar gesture.  
  
At her motion, the illusion that made the end of the hall innocuous to curious visitors melted away, revealing a mirror that held naught but mystery within its surface. Her hand gently traced the designs carved into the vast frame, her mind wandering as she recalled who had given her the mirror, and why.  
  
Until we meet again, my Avatar...  
  
She shivered as his voice and amber eyes echoed again in the vaults of her mind. Unconsciously, her fingers found the faint lupine designs etched in the strange material that originated from the realm on the other side of the mirror. Out of habit gained over aeons, she brought her hands up before the mirror and  _stilled_ herself, quelling all movement, all thought.  
  
All breath.  
  
The mirror began to pulse softly, beating more strongly as her own heartbeat slowed at her command. The familiar sensation of absolute serenity caught her up, and, in moments, she floated in a sea of utter calm, one with the life that pulsed  _within_  and _without_. For an endless moment, she hovered in the sensation of existence without need, purpose without desire, life without impetus.  
  
When in such a state, it was simple to forget who others perceived her to be, and remember who she  _truly was_...  
  
And in that instant, she was propelled through the mirror and into the Beyond.  
  
.~^~.  
  
Around her, the silence was complete. The landscape shifted with her attention, sharpening where she focused and blurring when she glanced away. In the distance, as always, hovered the City of the Focus of Life, glinting gold in a light that never brightened and never dimmed. She halted and fixed her gaze on it, searching for any sign that the Focus might emerge and challenge her invasion of a realm he considered his, but there was no movement from behind the bright walls.  
  
A slight smile touched her lips as she remembered her last visit to the City, before the Founding, before the War – before she lost her faith. She'd never  _seen_  her Master so angry. Not because she'd gone back to the City after it had been requested she not return, and not that she'd tried to spy on the Focus (which was utterly foolhardy): no, he'd been angry because she hadn't invited him to come along. A small chuckle stuck in her throat.  _And he accuses_ me  _of unnecessary mischief._  Her moment of levity faded as she glanced back at the golden flicker that hovered above.  _I wonder if that One even cares what occurs beyond the Veil between this place and Thedas, anymore._  
  
Rubbing her forehead in a reflexive action to banish an ache that did not actually exist, she straightened and  _focused_  on what was around her. She could feel the denizens of the Beyond at the edges of her mind, subtle as a whisper and substantial as a shadow. Amused as they probed and pushed and sought a weakness to exploit in her, she murmured to them,  _No, little ones_.  _I know your nature, and you cannot know mine._  
  
The sensations in her mind ceased as they retreated in uncertainty.  
  
Smiling, she smoothly shifted into a form she found as natural as her own. As she loped off on four feet, she lowered her muzzle to the ground, seeking the scent that had brought her here. For aeons she had sought a hint of it, knowing that it must be somewhere, and for aeons she had left the Beyond frustrated and weary.  
  
Yet always she returned.  
  
Though she had journeyed into the Beyond many times since first becoming aware, it was not until the empty spans of despair after the War that she had discovered the true nature of the connection between Thedas, with Arlathan at its center, and the Beyond, and through that discovery gained nigh unfettered access to the realm across the Veil. In those years, she had recklessly explored the Beyond, learning more than even her Master had grudgingly told her despite the constant barrage of questions to which she had subjected him all those aeons ago. Though at first she had no firm purpose further than losing herself in the endless reaches of the Beyond, over time that aimlessness coalesced into one firm desire: to find those who had disappeared from Thedas when the War had ended with the Minauri's massacre.  
  
She growled in response to where her thoughts had led her.  _I will find you, Ancient Ones. I will not relent until I know why you betrayed my People as well your own._  
  
Muzzle to the ground, she continued her seemingly endless quest through the place that only truly existed for those not born of Thedas. Time melted away during her quest, her purpose strengthened by the ritual of mourning for the Minauri, as she hunted for the gods, and for the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An explanation of Elven time as kept in Arlathan: 
> 
> hand - five days  
> span - 100 years  
> aeon - 1000 years


	4. Obsession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The more I recalled of their deaths, the more I became convinced of my own guilt."
> 
> -Tallathian, High Councilor of Arlathan

.~^~.

 

Liniathalan paused in his labors, wiping the sweat from his brow.  _Who knew research could be so time-consuming?_ Straightening, he lifted his arms and stretched them languorously, willing his spine to lengthen slowly from its curved state.  _For a people who revel in living memory, we certainly don't organize our historical writings very well._  He looked at the scrolls and books lying in haphazard piles around him.  _I never realized how little of the old history is written down. Have we truly become so complacent in our existence outside time that we have forgotten the importance of that which has come before?_  
  
Sighing, he resumed his quest. Somehow, some way, he would learn more of the bewitching creature that was Tallathian. An image rose in his mind: hair so white it glowed in the moonlight, skin without blemish, bottomless eyes of pale lavender, a lithe figure that conveyed a sense of energy that was endless and restrained. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to linger on the mental conjuration with a sensual smile. Even the delicate tracery of the tattoo around her eyes that was completely unique to her, in a city where the marks were used to indicate inclusion into a group, not exclusion – even that served to stoke his interest rather than put him off.  
  
And, of course, she was also High Councilor, one of only five, and, as far as he could determine, the longest serving member of the Council. That fit in quite nicely with his ambitions, as well.  
 __  
Which is why it is so hard to fathom that so little information on her exists! A hand ran through his hair to push it back as he again surveyed the disarray around him. _As far as I can determine, she is one of the oldest denizens of Arlathan that has not yet entered the waking sleep, yet the only writings about her I can find are Council minutes, nothing else. Maddening!_  
  
He had first begun to take a more than casual interest in his fellow Councilor shortly after his appointment to the Council as the representative of the port city of Cenithalan. He had quickly learned that many of the other Councilors felt inclined to dismiss him as the youngest (which he understood) and because he was not a native of Arlathan (which he dismissed as foolish). However, he had also noticed that Tallathian never discounted his words, and even brought them up herself if she felt that they had not been given sufficient attention. Perhaps without realizing it, she had, in only a few decades, helped him establish a reputation that should have taken spans to build, even though at times they were at direct odds with one another, particularly where the  _shemlen_ were concerned. She always maintained cordial relations with him, however, even while around them life-feuds were constantly being defused by mediation.  
  
Then, one afternoon after a particularly harrowing Council session which had established the quarantine of P'artha, he had, on a whim, gone to the Garden of Serenity for the first time.  
  
He shivered slightly as he remembered the vision he had seen, deep within the Garden next to a lone Second Tree: Tallathian quietly dancing under the moonlight, eyes closed, oblivious to all around her. Not wanting to disturb her, he had watched her graceful movements for only a few moments before quietly leaving her in peace.  
  
But his rest that night had been anything but peaceful.  
  
After that he had begun quietly investigating this woman of delightful mystery, using his 'elf from the outskirts' identity to disguise his true intent. And he had discovered how little the people of Arlathan seemed to know of her outside of what he had already learned simply by serving on the Council.  
  
And, now that he had finally initiated a process that he hoped would fulfill his many desires, he had come to realize just how little he truly knew about the woman. And so began his venture into the Great House of Knowledge, seeking to learn more.  
  
As he focused on the books before him, he failed to register the soft footsteps that came to a rest behind until he heard someone politely clear their throat. "Councilor?"  
  
Startled, he looked around to find a Scholar behind him, the markings on his robe indicating he was a Deep Scholar of the Fourth Rank. Carefully laying the scroll in his hands down on the table before him, Liniathalan turned and gave a respectful bow as he presented his hands for the formal greeting. "The blessings of Those We Serve upon you, Deep Scholar. May your Creator find you in good health and peace this day."  
  
The Scholar returned the bow, an amused twinkle in his brown eyes as he placed his hands in Liniathalan's own. "And may your Creator grant you blessing and purpose."  
  
As their hands dropped, Liniathalan inquired politely, "How may I serve you?"  
  
The other gazed at him silently for a moment longer, a stare that flicked over the Councilor's form from head to toe before returning to look him intently in the eyes once more. Taking advantage of the break, he returned the favor, attempting to discern why a Deep Scholar would take notice of one of many of the supplicants in the Great House where the written memories and histories were stored.  _I know I'm not even the only Councilor present,_ he mused. However, he could detect nothing save respect and perhaps curiosity in the other's mien. The elf did not even display a tattoo to hint at his affiliations with the community. Gamely putting on a straightforward smile, Liniathalan waited patiently for the other to speak.  
  
The Scholar cocked an eyebrow. "You've been here frequently over the past several hands, searching among our oldest records." He paused, allowing the silence to fill with a subtle expectation, then continued, "And yet you do not seek the assistance of those who would willingly give it. My colleagues and I admit to an unruly curiosity at your actions."  
  
Liniathalan lifted an elegant eyebrow. For the man to admit to this directly indicated that the curiosity was intense indeed, for the Scholars of the Great House guarded their reputation for circumspection and discretion closely. "Am I to take it then that you wish to offer your services in exchange for a slaking of your thirsty intellect?"  
  
"Only at your discretion, Councilor," the other murmured. "I can assure you that, should you wish it, I can assist you in such a manner as to leave others parched, should you so desire."  
  
He considered the other's offer. While it was true that he had wished to keep his interest in the High Councilor's past as private as possible, it was becoming apparent to him that if he wished to find any reference to her in the Great House outside of tangential mention of her service on the Council, he would need the aid of one who had spent spans, if not aeons, analyzing the many scrolls and books around him that had yet to relinquish their secrets to his casual study.  
Finally relinquishing to the demands of his own yearning for knowledge, he bowed his head slightly. "I would appreciate any assistance you can render, as long as…discretion is observed."  
  
The Scholar nodded in understanding. "I understand, Councilor."  
  
Heaving a sigh of relief, Liniathalan leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Might I know the name of the one who will aid me in my quest for knowledge?" he inquired as politely as possible.  
  
The other bowed slightly. "I am known as Fen'Vhenan."  
  
Liniathalan raised an eyebrow in askance. "That is a name with… unusual connotations." He knew that would, for most in Arlathan, have been an understatement, as the name of Fen'Vhenan was uncomfortably close to that of he who had betrayed the Creators, the dark god Fen'Harel. Even thinking of the Dreadful Wolf was enough to send an atavistic shiver down the back of most of the Elvhen.  
  
A sardonic smile ghosted across the Scholar's face. "It has been my name for aeons, Councilor. I am well accustomed to such reactions." His eyes grew distant. "And I remember a time when it was considered a bold name rather than a questionable one." He sighed, as if longing for those days. Abruptly meeting Liniathalan's gaze, he said, "Now, tell me what knowledge you seek."  
  
After a brief hesitation, he confessed, "I seek information on High Councilor Tallathian."  
  
Brown eyes narrowed slightly at this revelation as the plain face that surrounded them stilled into an emotionless mask. Abruptly, Liniathalan felt as if his very soul were being scrutinized by the old Scholar before him. He felt his mouth go dry as he wondered if he had overstepped some boundary that only those born of Arlathan were aware of, or, worse, had offended the venerable sage. Instead, the man only murmured, "Fascinating," as he continued to study the young man before him. Then, with a sharp nod, he barked, "Follow." Turning, he began briskly walking into a different part of the Great House, away from the histories. Intrigued, Liniathalan followed.  
  
.~^~.  
  
He considered the young elf following him through the Great House.  _Such a bold youth,_  he mused.  _It must be due to the fact that he was not born here._ His mouth twisted in a grimace.  _Arlathan and her residents have grown soft, complacent. They follow tradition without understanding, discuss facts without truth, take action without context. They are committing the same mistakes which earned the_ Minauri _a swift death, and proceed blindly down a path that will lead only to their destruction._  
  
He sighed heavily.  _It is worse than I thought when first I arrived. They have forgotten their history and retreated into memory alone. And if a memory proves too unpleasant to dwell upon, they choose to forget_ that _as well._ He closed his eyes, letting his feet trace the path to his hidden Archives of their own volition.  _When only one woman in all of Arlathan mourns the results of the War, then something is very wrong._ Opening his eyes, he came to a precipitous halt in the middle of an alcove bare of furniture or ornamentation.  
  
Turning to Liniathalan, he said, "Before we proceed further, young Councilor, I wish to ask a question of you." Accepting the other's wary nod as an indication he would at least consider providing an answer, he continued, " _Why_ do you wish to know more of High Councilor Tallathian? She has…faded from the interest of most of Arlathan's denizens. In fact, she is perceived at best as selfish or weak for not going to the waking sleep, at worst as a relic of a past age that is best forgotten."  
  
The other's eyes flashed angrily. "Then they are fools and blind. Even if you put aside her remarkable beauty, the woman should be venerated for the breadth of her knowledge and skill. She is compassionate, wise, and…and…" He paused for breath, obviously vexed. "Anyone who cannot see what an asset to Arlathan she is does not deserve to claim they have Elvhenan's best interest in mind."  
  
He regarded Liniathalan for a moment, then nodded. "You see more than many who possess several times your years, young one. Now, one final question: you have trusted your affairs to my discretion. Can I trust mine to yours?"  
  
Liniathalan considered this for only a moment before responding, "If it gains me the knowledge I seek, I will make any vow you care to present."  
  
He smiled. "Glad am I to hear that." Turning to a blank wall of the alcove, he whispered,  _"Geldauran."_  
  
The wall shimmered as the illusion of nothing was dismissed, revealing a deep-set black door of an ominous nature. He heard Liniathalan's swift intake of breath as he stepped forward to open it. On the other side was revealed a long corridor that stretched into seemingly endless darkness. Turning to the gaping Councilor behind him, he said, "Come," before confidently proceeding into the unknown.  
  
As they walked down the tunnel, lights of no discernible origin flickered into existence. He  _felt_  when the door behind them closed, but he suspected that Liniathalan did not. After a few minutes of monotonous travel they reached another door of a quite ordinary nature. Passing through this portal brought them into a small room, barely four paces by four paces. Each of the walls not occupied by a door displayed hundreds upon hundreds of books and scrolls. He watched Liniathalan's eyes widen in satisfaction.  
  
"Behold," he said in a deep voice, deciding to have a bit of fun at the young man's expense. "Behold the history of Elvhenan and what came before!"  
  
The elf stepped forward and caressed the spine of one of the books with reverence. "I… I had no idea this room even existed." He took a book down and opened, skimming through its contents. His brow furrowed. "I know not this language. I thought I knew every tongue of Thedas."  
  
Fen'Vhenan stepped forward and glanced at the book.  _Ah,_  he thought,  _of course._  "You likely know every  _living_  tongue of Thedas, young man. The last ones to speak the language of the book you hold in your hands died before the Founding."  
  
Eyes widening, Liniathalan said incredulously, "How can that be? Is not Elvish the oldest language?"  
  
Saddened at the response, shook his head. "Not even the second oldest." He looked around the room. "There is knowledge here for you to grasp, young man. But it is not all knowledge that you will be able to truly accept, at least not initially." Walking to one of the bookshelves, he scanned its contents quickly before retrieving a small volume and holding it out to the young elf. "So, are you truly ready to learn the truth?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An explanation of Elvhen time as kept in Arlathan: 
> 
> hand - five days  
> span - 100 years  
> aeon - 1000 years 
> 
> .~^~.
> 
> Elvhen terms: 
> 
> Creators - the Gods of the Elvhen  
> Fen'Vhenan - Heart of the Wolf  
> Fen'Harel - Dreadful Wolf


	5. The Hunt Ends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Absence diminishes mediocre passions and increases great ones, as the wind extinguishes candles and fans fires."
> 
> \- Francois de La Rochefoucauld

Liniathalan looked at the small book, then at the man he now suspected was no Scholar. Without another word, he took the volume, flipped to the first page, and began to read.  
  
In old Elvish, a distinctly feminine hand had written:  
  
" _In those early years after the War and after the planting of the First Seed and Stone (which later came to be called the Founding of Arlathan), I sought a reason to continue my pointless existence. During this time, I freely roamed the Beyond, ignoring time in all its vicarious forms. Retreating from my kith and kin, I fled far into the wilderness, pleading weariness and a need for solitude. In those journeys, I wandered the face of Thedas aimlessly, spans passing without notice, as I sought to escape memories of my own helplessness. I know not how many spans or even aeons I spent in the wilds, nor how many years I roamed the brambles of the Beyond – I know only that I never found peace. And so, in the end, I returned home._  
  
" _Only to find it completely transformed._  
  
" _In the place of loose communities of Elves held together by clan and family, cities had arisen, roads had been laid, and a rule of law imposed. Trade between clans had been established, and a form of governance had been agreed upon. Many new generations of Elves now lived who didn't remember the War, and knew not the sin committed by the Elvhen. Instead of relying upon those related by blood, associations were established through abilities and skill._  
  
" _More disturbing still, however, was not what had changed, but what had gone missing."_  
  
Eyes widening, he quickly flipped to the final page in search of a name to put to this entry. In a simple yet elegant style, he found only a single name: _Tallathian_.  
  
He gasped, then looked up at his guide's eyes, only to be confronted with a further surprise. The dull, uninteresting brown eyes of his guide had transformed into a lambent amber gaze. A violent shiver tore through him in response, a reaction that caught him completely off-guard. He paled when he realized that they were not the eyes of any being that walked upon two legs.  
  
Slowly falling to his knees, he murmured, "By all that I have been taught, I should go running to the Council with news of your presence here, Dreadful Wolf."  
  
The other snorted in disdain. "As if they can do anything effectively. They cower in their Hall, certain in the love of their Creators, mouthing traditions and living in the glories of the past." Those piercing eyes captured his gaze. "You come from outside Arlathan. You have seen for yourself what is taking place at the edges of Elvhenan. You have even fought to have those observations acted upon by the Council. And yet-?" his voice trailed off, obviously expecting Liniathalan to respond.  
  
"They insist that the problem will go away with time. They call upon the Creators to protect us. They promise aid and never deliver." He shook his head in the frustration that had been plaguing him since joining the Council. "They  _do_  nothing."  
  
"Even so, young one," the other said sagely. "Even so."  
  
"Cannot  _you_  do something? After all you are—"  
  
The other's lips curled, revealing teeth that more than hinted at a lupine heritage. "And who would accept my word so easily? The Council? In all of Arlathan, indeed, in all of Elvhenan, there is only one who ever understood my role in Thedas, and she is venerated without true regard. No," he said wearily, "if Arlathan is to be saved from that which comes, it must come from within Elvhenan, not without." He looked at the young elf closely. "You may enter this room whenever you wish. The door will always be available to you and no other. Learn, young elf." He sighed. "And learn quickly. The change comes."  
  
And just like that, Liniathalan was alone in the small room of ancient, terrifying knowledge.  
 __  
By the Creators,he thought, _what have I gotten myself into?_  
  
.~^~.  
  
Fen'Harel watched Liniathalan wrestle with himself from the secrecy of the shadows. Finally the young elf clutched Tallathian's journal close, then turned and left the room with a renewed vigor in his stride. The Wolf knew that he had taken a great chance in revealing himself to the elf, but his true prey had proven surprisingly elusive. He looked at the door through which Liniathalan had departed.  _But this one, this young mage… He has promise. His mind hungers as much as his body, and he has not yet been blinded by pure faith to those long gone._  
  
His mind returned to dwell temporarily on the whereabouts of his original prey.  _It's almost as if she somehow sensed I had returned, and sought the embrace of the Beyond on purpose, knowing I cannot track her in that realm._  He laughed quietly to himself.  _Ah, my pretty little quarry, I have not seen you in so long, I have almost forgotten your scent._  He growled softly to himself.  _But we will be reunited soon: this I swear._ __  
  
.~^~.  
  
Tallathian came out of the mirror and collapsed onto the floor, gasping and fighting for breath. It had been a long time since she had spent so much time in the Beyond without pause, and she had forgotten the debilitating effect that extended stays in the Beyond had upon her corporeal form. After a few minutes, she was able to gather enough strength to shakily regain her feet. Vaguely she gestured at the mirror to restore the illusion before staggering down the hallway to the sanctuary of her bedroom.  
  
Lacking the strength to remove the dress she had attired herself in before entering the Beyond, she managed to make it to her bed before her knees gave way. She lay upon the bed, heart racing as if she had run a race with the  _halla_ , trying to summon up sufficient energy to reach for the water she always kept at her bedside. She closed her eyes in an attempt to make the room stop spinning, but the vertigo only increased. She groaned painfully as a host of other symptoms began to demand her attention in addition to her parched throat: muscles that spasmed from lack of nutrients, a stomach that clenched insistently at her backbone, and an ache in her head that only grew worse as she tried to will it away.  
 __  
How long was I in there? she wondered. _I honestly can't remember the last time it was this bad._  
  
Abruptly a strong pair of arms surrounded her. Energy flowed into her in a delicious stream, soothing away her physical ailments in a delirious cascade of healing. Sighing, she reveled in a moment free of pain before suddenly realizing that she didn't even know who had acted upon her distress.  
  
Turning to face her benefactor, she froze.  
  
"Welcome home, my little Avatar." Her Master's amber gaze captured her, hypnotizing her, refusing to allow her escape. "I have missed you, my pet."  
  
"Master," she whispered. She felt, as always, the ever-present thrumming that she had come to associate with the presence of one of the Creators and other Gods: pure, strong and inexhaustible. Still, even in Mythal's presence she had never felt the overwhelming  _hunger_  that she always felt when she beheld her Master. Trembling hands reached out and smoothed through the dark sable glory of his hair as her eyes filled with tears. " _Emma vhenan_. You have returned."  
  
Jerking her close to his chest, he grinned wolfishly at her. "I always keep my promises,  _emma sa'lath._ " His lips devoured hers in a biting kiss as the years fell away and the barriers between Master and Avatar melted, and in the bed lay only two who had found - outside the strictures placed by the Creators, the Ancient Ones, and the Focus himself - a love that would not allow itself to be denied.  
  
The lust of aeons lost seethed between them as they desperately grappled with each other. Fen'Harel grasped her dress and growled, ripping it away with a thought. She reciprocated by tearing his tunic to shreds with fingers that had suddenly developed claws. The kissing continued unabated as they rolled around on the bed, divesting themselves of all clothing and, eventually, all restraint. When they lay naked, he lifted his head and looked down at her pale, sweating form, eyes glowing in the dim light. His chest and back were marked with crimson runnels left by her claws, and blood from the pricks his fangs had inflicted on the soft flesh of her lips traced the outline of her mouth.  
  
Slowly he bent his head and licked away the blood as he gently soothed the bite marks while her newly restored fingers reached up to caress his torso and repair the damage done during their ferocious foreplay. Now that the immediate act of punishment and contrition had been dispensed with, his lips continued their path from her mouth to her breasts, a series of lightly biting kisses alternating with deep, sensuous strokes from his unusually long and soft tongue.  
  
Tallathian flung her head back in unadulterated pleasure as the almost-forgotten blinding heat of sexual stimulation rippled through her nerves, finding the long dormant fire of her desire and stoking it until it burned as hotly as an Ancient One's breath. She surrendered herself to the sensation, back arching, feeling only the sensation of his tongue and teeth as he progressed from her breasts down the curve of her stomach and ultimately to the center of her being.  
  
As she peaked, the howl of a wolf echoed above Arlathan.

 

.~^~.

 

_(commissioned artwork of Fen'Harel and Tallathian by[MistyTang](http://mistytang.deviantart.com/))_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An explanation of Elvhen time as kept in Arlathan: 
> 
> hand - five days  
> span - 100 years  
> aeon - 1000 years 
> 
> .~^~.
> 
> Elvhen terms:
> 
> Creators - the Gods of the Elvhen  
> Mythal - Head of the Creators Pantheon  
> Fen'Harel - Dreadful Wolf  
> Emma vhenan - my heart  
> Emma sa'lath - my one love


	6. Crack in the Facade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "There is no perfection so complete that a note of discord cannot be located and exploited."
> 
> -Tevarus, First Scholar to Archon Darinius

  


.~^~.

 

Melanna stepped back and pursed her lips as she scrutinized her husband's appearance. Her dark green eyes narrowed speculatively as her delicate hands moved over his clothing, making adjustments here and there. Silently accepting her ministrations, Tevarus held his peace and allowed her unfettered access to his person. After a few final minute alterations, she shook her head and sighed, "I'm not completely satisfied, but at least you won't embarrass us before the Archon."  
  
Tevarus smiled lightly. "In matters of taste and fashion, love, you are never satisfied." He pulled her closer to him. "Which is I why I trust you impeccably in both."  
  
She stiffened in consternation as she was pulled against him. "You're just going to wrinkle your clothes if you keep this up." Giving him a smoldering look, she placed her hands on either side of his face. "You can attend to me  _after_ your meeting with Darinius."  
  
He released her and bowed slightly. "I will hold you to that, my dear." Holding out a hand for his satchel which a nearby slave hurried to bring to him, he added, "I should be back before the sun sets." Hefting the tools of his trade, he turned and left.  
  
As he traveled to the Royal Palace of Minrathous, where Archon Darinius currently kept residence, he passed by the grounds where the new Imperial Compound was being built. Pausing to study the construction, he idly noted that the number of slaves put into the construction of the Archon's new home seemed to be increasing steadily.  _They have been told to complete it more quickly, then. I wonder what Darinius is up to?_  He stood for a moment more, silently observing the frenetic activity of the slaves and the slave masters as they pushed the unfortunate workers to a feverish pitch.  
  
Off to the side sat several magisters, lounging in the shade of elaborate tents that had been constructed for their comfort.  _They await the harvest at the end of the day, I see,_  he thought. He could see the magisters talking amongst themselves, laughing and pointing at several of the more obviously overworked slaves, perhaps deciding which ones they would take with them to provide a source of power for their next blood magic rituals. Striving to keep his expression neutral, he began his progress towards the Palace once more.  
  
Upon his arrival at the palace, he made his way to the small study the Archon had set aside for him, hoping to get a few quiet moments of writing in before his scheduled meeting with the man. As he entered his study, he stopped when he saw the imposing figure leaning over his desk, back to the door.  
  
"Ah, Tevarus, you've arrived," the man said without turning around. "Excellent." Gesturing expansively, he said, "Come in, come in. I was just looking at this marvelous map you've been slaving over." Tevarus entered the study as commanded, careful not to touch Darinius inadvertently as he set his satchel down on a nearby bookshelf. Darinius waved his hand towards the door, which slammed shut at the touch of his magic. "Magnificent work, as always."  
  
Uncertain how to respond, he settled for a bow as he said, "Thank you, Sire."  
  
Darinius looked up, expression reflecting a rare good humor. "You're welcome." Straightening from the table, he stretched his arms back a little as he settled onto his heels. "Your Melanna is doing well, I trust?"  
  
Astounded that the Archon remembered that he was married, much less knew his wife's name, he bowed to cover his confusion. "Quite well, Sire."  
  
"Wonderful." Darinius glanced at the door, as if to ensure it remained closed, then turned and met Tevarus' gaze. In that instant, the seemingly jovial benevolent ruler was gone, and the Archon returned in full. His slate grey eyes flattened, his expression deadened, and the arrogance that seemed to permeate all magisters since the Archon's rise to power two decades prior consumed his entire being. Tapping the map, he said in a tone which brooked no demurral, "Come. We have much to discuss."  
  
As Tevarus walked to stand next to Darinius, fighting to keep his composure, the Archon swept his finger in an arch across the map. "You've even had the opportunity to update it with our most recent…acquisitions, I see," he said, a proprietary gleam in his eyes. He quickly sketched the outlines of his growing empire, halting the motion when he reached the central plains south of Minrathous. His face darkened slightly at the name that stood there, proudly excluded from the boundaries of his growing Empire.  _"Elvhenan."_  He whispered the name like a curse.  
  
Stabbing his finger at the center of the plains, he looked up at Tevarus. "You've been to Arlathan, have you not?"  
  
"Many years ago, Sire. In my youth I accompanied Master Scholar Tiberian as part of a diplomatic mission." He closed his eyes momentarily, remembering the journey. It had been over forty years, and still he remembered the sense of awe that had fallen over him when he had first beheld the jewel that was Arlathan. "It is not a sight easily forgotten."  
  
"Would you like to return?"  
  
Opening his eyes, he met the Archon's eyes incredulously. Bereft of a more prepared response, he said, "Sire?"  
  
The Archon smiled, and it was not a comforting expression. "You are aware that I dispatched Magister Tecronis as Ambassador to Elvhenan?"  
  
Tevarus nodded, remaining silent. He had quietly advised Darinius that Tecronis (or any magister, for that matter) was not a wise choice to send to Arlathan in a diplomatic capacity, but Darinius had overruled him. He daren't remind the Archon of this himself, of course, but he suspected he knew what the Archon was going to say next.  
  
Darinius obviously knew his First Scholar's thoughts, because his mouth tightened in irritation. "And, as you predicted, they turned him back at the border, though they declined to state why." He slammed the desk with a fist. "Impertinent elves!" Shooting a glance at Tevarus, he demanded, "How did you know that a magister would be rejected? My papers of introduction should be enough authority for any country of Thedas!"  
  
"Sire, I—" He hesitated, not wishing to elicit further ire from his temperamental liege.  
  
Visibly calming himself, Darinius took a deep breath. "Speak freely, First Scholar." A ghost of a smile crossed his face. "I gave you the right to speak without reprisal when first I created your position." Tapping his chest in a self-deprecating fashion, he chuckled. "All rulers need at least one adviser that knows he can speak the truth without fear. I chose you." His keen gaze swept over the Scholar quickly. "Even when I elect to ignore your advice, I always desire to hear it."  
  
Relaxing slightly, Tevarus said, "It's the blood magic, Sire. I saw no blood magic while I was in Elvhenan, and in fact noticed a clear disdain in our hosts the few times the subject was discussed. As well, when you announced you were going to send someone to Arlathan, I went back and looked through Tiberian's notes. He stated quite clearly that blood magic is a forbidden practice in Elvhenan, as is slavery. You can disguise slaves to a point, as we did during our mission there, but the elves always recognize a blood mage on sight."  
  
"Foolish prejudice," Darinius growled. "And yet…" His gaze returned to the map and its maddening demarcation of the border between Imperium lands and Elvhenan. "By Toth's Flame, I will not let the Imperium be so insulted! I need more information about this… _Elvhenan._ " His hand tightened into a fist where it rested on the map. "And I have chosen you to retrieve it." His heated gaze met that of the Scholar next to him. "Among other things," he added in a near whisper.  
  
Tevarus fought the urge to shiver violently from the chill within the Archon's eyes. "I live but to serve, Sire."  
  
.~^~.  
  
Liniathalan looked into the mirror before him, scrutinizing his appearance.  _My own mother wouldn't recognize me,_  he thought in a detached fashion. His fingers reached up and raked through his unkempt hair, its formerly lustrous length hanging in lackluster tendrils down the sides of his face. His clothing was wrinkled, dirty and obviously hadn't been changed in quite a while.  _'Tis most amusing I suppose, that I, the most immaculate elf in Cenithalan, am now reduced to this…shade of myself._  
  
He put his hands on the side of the water basin over which he hovered as he wrenched his gaze from his reflection. With a groan, he closed his eyes and lowered his head.  _Mother always warned me that when my passion awoke it would consume me._  He shook his head in an attempt to clear it.  _And no elf can hope to fight against both passion_ and  _intellect._  
  
His eyes wandered to the slim volume on the small table next to his bed, filled with astounding observations from an ancient age. He had gone back periodically to the hidden vault to which Fen'Harel had granted him access, seeking additional volumes of lore to supplement the initial book foisted on him by the wily Creator, but his thoughts and attention inevitably gravitated back to Tallathian's small journal. The revelations he had discovered within its pages shook his entire world to its very core, leaving him feeling adrift and disconnected from his fellow Arlathans.  _If they knew what I knew…_  
  
He glanced up into the mirror.  _Some of them_ must  _know. Tallathian can't be the only elf left in Elvhenan from that time, can she?_  
  
The mere thought of the beguiling elf awoke a different kind of pain within his breast. Whirling away from the mirror, he staggered back to his bed and sat down upon it heavily. Picking up the slim volume, he cradled it in his hands. "Where are you, _emma vhenan_?" he whispered.  _Why would you leave without telling anyone where you were going? The other High Councilors insist you aren't dead, that they would_ know  _somehow, but they refuse to tell me anything more._  He held the book to his forehead, as if such a motion would somehow grant him the elusive enlightenment he sought.  _Where are you?_  
  
Abruptly a dreadful amber gaze flashed across his awareness.  _Dreadful Wolf, what have you done to to her?_ He shook his head once more.  _What have you done to_ me _?_  
  
As if in response to his thoughts, a wolf howl rose over Arlathan, sending a sharp shiver down his spine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvhen terms: 
> 
> Emma vhenan - my heart


	7. Dream Within a Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “It is by no means an irrational fancy that, in a future existence, we shall look upon what we think our present existence, as a dream.”
> 
> -Edgar Allen Poe

 

.~^~.

Tallathian relaxed into the arms of her lover, reveling in his warmth. After the initial slaking of their parched lust, they had progressed on a more leisurely reacquaintance, thoroughly exploring each other and rediscovering what had become only a dim memory in the intervening aeons since her Master's departure from Thedas after the War.

Even now, when her body quivered from that most blissful exhaustion of total sexual satisfaction, he continued his devotion to her body: sensuously caressing her breasts, running his hands up and down her torso, nipping her shoulders and suckling her lips with the fervent passion that had drawn them together in the first place.

Unable to summon the energy to respond in kind, she lay limp in his embrace, allowing wave after wave of erotic sensation to run over and through her in delicious shivers. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to be lost in him once more. It was only when his hand strayed to the space between her legs that she gasped and managed, "No more, _emma vhenan_! Even I cannot withstand such a prolonged exposure to pleasure without losing my sanity as well."

A lupine growl emanated from his chest. "Pity," he murmured as he restricted himself to stroking her hair with claw-tipped fingers. "We still have a lot of catching up to do." His eyes glowed in the gathering dark. "But that can wait, if it must. Besides, there are other matters that require your attention as well."

"Mmmmm," she hummed into the crook of his neck. She fought to stay awake, but the lethargy that was the inevitable result of their lengthy intensity and her prolonged exposure to the vagaries of the Beyond were finally catching up to her. She felt her Master's embrace draw her close, and then knew nothing more.

.~^~.

Fen'Vhenan (for he still considered the name he had first claimed as his own, not the one given him by the ill-informed historians of Elvhenan) regarded the delicate creature within his arms. Once more the strange conflict rose within him: between the God and the lover; the detached forever and the passionate now. As he ran his hand over her pale hair, he marveled at the nature of their relationship. "Though all of Thedas stand against us," he whispered into her ear, "still my love will endure."

He closed his eyes, fighting the tears that threatened. _Even when the time comes that you must revile my name and hate me,_ emma sa'lath, _still my love will endure._

Tightening his arms around her, he forced himself to be content with saturating his senses with her scent and softness. After all, of all those on Thedas, he alone knew what the future held.

He grimaced. _The First of the Elvhen claimed I betrayed their Gods – my own clan! – for hatred and jealousy, that I somehow cast them out of Thedas because it would further my own diabolical purposes._ That accusation still stung, based as it was on willful ignorance. _Not even Elgar'nan and Mythal saw what I saw, knew what I knew. I warned them of the consequences of the War against the Minauri, I warned them of the true Betrayal, the betrayal of the Ancient Ones. I warned them of what I had seen in the deep reaches under mountains and plains of Thedas, what the song of the Ancient Ones had inspired. I warned them that the slaughter of the Minauri would only hasten the tide of darkness I perceived, not prevent it as they thought._

The familiar sadness swept through him. _And still the Minauri were massacred, killed by those who were only doing what they had been bidden. Murdered by those children we Created for love and peace, for quiet and contemplation._ The familiar anger rose within him. _And so did I turn on my brothers and sisters: not for hatred, not for jealousy, not for my own twisted gain. I banished them from Thedas as punishment for that which they had allowed to be, as the Focus banished the Ancient Ones for what they had perpetrated._

He sighed heavily, once again feeling the overwhelming regret. _All for a song. A song borne of power, of greed, of betrayal._ He closed his eyes. _A song of change._

When he had returned to Arlathan, exhausted by his travels to the darkest reaches of the underworld, he had hoped to find _someone_ within the city that would be willing to give heed to his warnings on the dangers he had found there. _The Minauri_ _did not return to the Beyond after death, just as I foretold. They went_ below _, they mutated, they corrupted… they spawned. Slowly, ever so slowly, the darkness grows._ He growled. _Though it takes a span or an aeon, what I saw will consume all of Thedas in the end._

He looked once more at the woman in his arms. _Unless I can prepare them. Unless I can somehow wean them from their weakness, their complacency, and force them to return to the strength they had when we first brought them into being._ He sighed. _If they do not first allow themselves to be broken._

He stared at the stars above the grove which housed Tallathian's bedchamber, lost in thought. _We sought only to create a paradise on Thedas, a place for our Creations to know joy and love. We hoped that the paradise would be eternal._ He tightened his grasp around his Avatar. _We only learned that it could never be thus._

Neither here, in her arms, nor in Arlathan.

.~^~.

Liniathalan stepped from his bath, feeling much refreshed. Briskly he moved a towel over his skin, enjoying the invigorating feel of increased blood flow and stimulated nerves. Turning his attention to his lengthy hair, he glanced into the mirror and grinned at his reflection, suddenly feeling more like his old self than he had felt in years.

_Odd the effect that wolf howl had upon me,_ he mused. _It's almost as if it were a call to awaken._ Shrugging slightly, he hung the towel on the nearby tree branch coaxed to grow from the trees of which his house was made and proceeded to his bedroom, absently using his magic to artfully arrange his hair into a complicated structure. _Perhaps Dirthamen used it as a signal to me to remember my purpose here. Our tales are full of the Creators spurring their worshipers into action, and I hardly think my purpose includes sitting around in a self-indulgent pout, especially when the Council is discussing how to deal with the matter of the political developments in Tevinter and the encroachment of the shemlen into our lands._

As he dressed, he frequently glanced at Tallathian's journal, still ensconced in its place of honor on his bedside table. _I need to approach the knowledge from that volume in a different manner, I think,_ he decided. _Perhaps return to the Great House of Knowledge and find a Scholar that is_ not  _a Creator and ask him about some of the terms within it. After all, I don't think I quite know what an Avatar is, or a Minauri, or what the nature of the Beyond truly is. Surely there are others in Arlathan with living knowledge of these things besides Tallathian._

Quickly pushing away the sting that name still brought to his chest, he quietly added out loud, "I must seek out the secrets that others would keep from me." Steepling his hands before his chest and bowing his head, he said quietly, "As you will it, Dirthamen, so shall it be."

Checking his appearance in the mirror, he nodded to himself in satisfaction. _The time for brooding has passed. The time for doing has come._

.~^~.

_She loped through the Beyond, ignoring the vicissitudes of that which lay around her, seeking the elusive clues that would ultimately lead her to her destination. Though unaware of how she had come to return to the Beyond so soon, Tallathian was grateful for the chance to resume her search once more. The knowledge that she was so close to the discovery of the Ancient Ones hovered on the edge of her awareness, tantalizing her, pulling her along…_

_And then, it found her._

The song.

_The song of the Ancient Ones, the song that had filled the Temples of the Minauri, both above and below, the song that had spurred the Creators into ordering the genocide of an entire race._

_She followed the keening sound, the delicate edge of despair and seduction acting as a siren to her senses. Helpless now to stop her progress, she rounded one last hill and found the source of the song._

_The Golden City lay before her in all of its splendor, the subtle call emanating from it. The Focus, standing underneath the arch of the great front gate, turned as he perceived her nearness. "Ah, Fleet of Foot!" he cried, as if he had not angrily banished her from his City that last time he had seen her near. "Is it not glorious?"_

_Shifting into her elven form, she came to a stop near the Focus. "The song?" she asked incredulously. "The song for which you banished the Ancient Ones? The song for which an entire race of beings was destroyed? The song that summons the darkness from the place between life and death?_ That _song?"_

_The Focus raised his hands, and the song swelled. "Yes._ My _song."_

Tallathian woke with a stifled scream. Instinctively she grasped at the space beside her, but her seeking hand found only a rapidly cooling blanket. She smiled resignedly. _He always said he got bored if I slept too long._

Trying to wipe the nightmare from her mind, she forced herself up and out. She felt disoriented, as if her head were stuffed tight with _halla_ fur, and her stomach was one large complaining hole of emptiness. After a quick exploration revealed that Fen'Vhenan had indeed gone elsewhere, presumably on some unknowable purpose, she decided that the time had come to address her own growing physical needs. Performing her ablutions, she hastily dressed herself in a casual outfit of tunic and trews, pulled her hair into her traditional coil around her head, and left the house in search of sustenance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvhen terms: 
> 
> Emma vhenan - my heart  
> Emma sa'lath - my one true love  
> Elgar'nan, Mythal, Dirthamen - some Creators of the Elvhen  
> shemlen - 'quick children', Elvhen term for human


	8. When Gods Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "To absent friends, lost loves, old gods, and the season of mists; and may each and every one of us always give the devil his due."
> 
> \- Neil Gaiman, The Sandman

 

.~^~.

 

_Deep under the surface of Thedas, he slept the slumber of old. Wrapped in the darkest embrace of enforced dormancy, his awareness yet roamed the hills and dales of Thedas and the valleys and emptiness of the Beyond. For aeons untold and spans unnumbered, he had sought minds outside the influence of either the Focus or the Creators, beings that eschewed the guidance of absent and uncaring Gods. He had scoured the Beyond for dreams that trusted not in those Gods - his enemies - but in Himself._

_In that time he had captured the Magisters and Archons of Tevinter, whispering into their subconscious, singing of the power of Gods and the glory of the Ancient Ones. His murmuring had run through the humans as wildfire, warping them and twisting them with knowledge that they would employ but not understand, utilize but not control. The secrets of blood magic he taught them, as well as the majesty and might of the Ancient Ones. He promised grandeur and splendor, immortality and omniscience, and whatever he felt their weak minds would accept, in return for a promise to enact vengeance._

_They named him_ Dumat _and worshipped him, built altars to him and his brethren, called them Old Gods and declared them supreme within the boundaries of Tevinter, then systematically began to expand those boundaries. And they pledged to Dumat's calling, though they themselves knew not the consequences that oath would entail._

Destroy them, _the Ancient Ones whispered in their dreams, subsumed into their minds._ Destroy the ones who killed our children. Destroy the one who banished us. Destroy them all, and we will give you that which we have promised and more.

_And thus did the Magisters set themselves upon the path of destruction._

_All that was necessary to set the final plan in motion was a single window, a weakness, into the defenses of Arlathan, a way past the walls of the ever-watchful Guardians. One single dream that could be turned from the Creators to the designs of the Ancient Ones…_

_Deep under the surface of Thedas, he slept the slumber of old. Surrounded by those of his Minauri children that had been killed but not destroyed, slain but not gone to the Beyond, he waited and watched, content in the knowledge that in the end, the taint of the Ancient Ones, stayed by war and exile, would eventually be unleashed upon the face of Thedas._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An explanation of Elven time as kept in Arlathan: 
> 
> hand - five days  
> span - 100 years  
> aeon - 1000 years


	9. The Crack Widens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “In Kal Sharok, the Archon perceived strength and thus sought an alliance. In Arlathan, the Archon perceived only weakness, and thus chose conquest.”
> 
> -Tevarus, First Scholar to Archon Darinius

 

.~^~.

 

He sat in the small room, unaware of time passing, unaware of the growing ache in his back, unaware of anything beyond the book in his hand. _So small, yet it looms so very large in my thoughts._ Unconsciously, his fingers moved possessively over the worn leather cover. No matter how many times he read it, he always found a new insight, a new secret, a new deceit. _How did you manage to put so much information into such a small space, my lovely Tallathian?_

Closing his eyes, he rubbed at the ache behind them, earned from his days of interrogation and nights of study. Ever since the epiphany from his Creator, he had circumspectly pursued his quest to discover who among the Elvhen possessed the knowledge he required, narrowing his focus to those who were among the oldest living Elvhen. And even though word had spread of Tallathian’s return, he held back from seeing her, the need for knowledge warring with his desire for her. _It is not enough to know her – I must know more_ about _her, and about her world._

Thus had begun his careful but insistent stalking of the _other_ High Councilors of Arlathan, for all were possessed of a great age, and thus were natural targets of his odd search through time.

At first he had approached them from the standpoint as a fellow Councilor and was met by polite greetings. With deftness indistinguishable from skilled hunting, he conversed with them, subtly directing the flow of words to his needs and skillfully controlling the exchange of knowledge. As he intended, the High Councilors felt only flattery that one of the younger elves was so interested in the history of Elvhenan, never suspecting any ulterior motive beyond idle inquiry. And, after several hands of days, he had been able to determine that of all the High Councilors outside of Tallathian, only one likely possessed the knowledge he sought.

And thus he had arranged to meet High Councilor Elnathanè in the Great House of Knowledge when the sun reached its zenith.

Setting the slim journal on the table next to the door in Fen'Harel's hidden Archive, he quietly exited the room, gathering his thoughts and focusing his plans. He knew that Elnathanè was his best chance to learn what he needed to know, but the older elf held a reputation as a taciturn curmudgeon. The High Councilor was notorious for his aloof nature, leaving his home only to attend Council Sessions, and leaving Council Sessions only to return home. It had taken all of Liniathalan's considerable persuasive talents to convince him to meet in the Great House of Knowledge, and the young elf knew he would never be able to arrange a time alone with Elnathanè again if this session did not bear fruit.

Determination in his step, he proceeded to the designated meeting area and settled in to wait for the older elf.

As the sun reached its peak, the familiar blue robes of Elnathanè appeared at the entrance to the Great House of Knowledge. He began a calculatedly deferential approach to the older elf, musing rather irreverently that Elnathanè wouldn't be late to a meeting even if Arlathan sank under the ground. Coming to a halt before the High Councilor, he presented his palms with punctilious exactitude. As the other's hands met his, he intoned, "The blessings of Those We Serve upon you, High Councilor Elnathanè. May your Creator find you in good health and peace this day."

Unable to resist the ritual, the High Councilor responded in kind. "And may your Creator grant you blessing and purpose." With a light _harrumph_ , the elf broke contact before adding, "You have been most persistent, young Liniathalan."

He bowed as if the other had bestowed a generous compliment, even though something felt slightly off-balance. Pushing the feeling aside, he observed sagely, "When one seeks wisdom, High Councilor, one must be persistent."

The older elf's lips twitched, though whether in annoyance or amusement at this pert remark could not immediately be discerned. Silence fell between them, a gaping chasm of reticence that Liniathalan instinctively guessed was the elder's attempt to force the younger elf to display his impatience by speaking first, a mild rudeness that would give him a reason to refuse further conversation. Expression placid, Liniathalan mentally folded his hands and settled in to wait for the other to initiate conversation.

Time slowly drifted past as they stared at each other. Utilizing the same discipline that had made him one of the most effective mages in Elvhenan despite his youth, Liniathalan focused on the delicate curl of the older elf's light brown eyelashes and forced himself to _wait,_ determined to pass the old elf’s test. For an age and an instant, they locked gazes, a subtle struggle of willpower the extent of which few even among the Elvhen would recognize. The sun slowly fell down to the horizon as, unmoving, the two regarded each other, each waiting for the resolve of the other to bend first.

In the end, Elnathanè relented with a slow, weary sigh. "So," he murmured, "the purpose of the Creators truly does move within you." Glancing around the now moonlit expanse of the Great House of Knowledge, he shook his head slightly and turned. "Come," he commanded. "This is not where we need to be."

Careful to keep his newfound triumph from coloring his thoughts or his face, Liniathalan followed the High Councilor from the Great House of Knowledge.

.~^~.

Tallathian moved without haste down one of the many small paths that crisscrossed Arlathan, grateful for the fact that it was, for the moment, empty of people. Upon her return home from the Beyond a few hands ago, life had resumed its ageless routine once more, save with rather more passion in her life at night. She had visited old friends she hadn’t seen in years, spent time with _Wind Over Still Waters_ and her newborn calf, born during absence, and relaxed into a rhythm that was as comforting as the arms that she now slept in each evening. Perhaps a few viewed her extended absence with curiosity – she’d been gone for a full turn of seasons, after all – but it was more for the unannounced nature of her absence rather than a length. After all, what was a year to those who lived for aeons?

The sound of approaching footsteps startled her from her reverie. A fierce desire to avoid contact with others swept through her and, before she even realized what she planned to do, she had assumed the form of an elf owl and fluttered up into the branches of a nearby tree. As she settled onto a branch and stilled herself into nigh-imperceptibility, two figures rounded the corner at the end of the short avenue and began moving towards her.

With a start, Tallathian recognized Liniathalin and Elnathanè. _That doesn't make any_ sense _. Elnathanè_ never _leaves his home outside of Council Sessions, and certainly doesn't seek out any company._ With the acute night vision granted her by her current form, Tallathian scrutinized her two fellow Councilors as they wordlessly approached her perch. _Elnathanè looks… odd, somehow._ Mentally shaking her head, she turned her gaze to Liniathalan. She had called on his abode once since returning from the Beyond, to apologize for missing their meeting at the Garden, but he had not been at home. The next Council Session was only a few days hence, so she had planned on talking with him then.

Still the pairing was strange – strange enough to make her more than take notice, but also to take a particular interest.

Fighting the urge to hoot softly, she managed to hold herself motionless and silent as the two passed beneath the tree she was perched upon. As they moved through the city, she flew silently from tree to tree behind them. As she did so, the feeling of something _wrong_ persisted, though she couldn’t tell from which elf the feeling rose. _Normally I would assume Liniathalan, since he is almost a stranger in Arlathan, relatively speaking._ Elnathanèwas an old friend, one of the few left from the second group of Elvhen pulled from the soil by the Creators after she and her brethren of the First had been created. Of all those left awake and alive in Arlathan, he was the only other who did not have a navel, since he had been formed of the stuff of Thedas by the thoughts of their Gods. To distrust him seemed laughable, and yet…

She settled on a branch and fluffed her feathers, trying to pinpoint what was wrong, then hooted softly and flew from the tree, this time landing carefully on one further up the two men’s projected path. Her owl eyes, far better suited to the dim light than the eyes of her two-legged form, focused and sharpened at her will, narrowing and zeroing in on Elnathanè as they passed beneath the tree upon which she was perched, the last before they could enter the Great Square which held the Hall Outside Time and the First Tree.

His eyes! _That_ was the difference. His eyes should have been the bright blue of the ice on the peaks of the mountains that lay to the south, visible even in this light, but instead… She puffed up her feathers again as a shiver ran through her. _Black as night. Blacker, even, black as the caverns deep below Kal’Sharok and the caverns the dwarves have cultivated._

_Oh, Elnathanè, what has happened?_

She took to wing again, her intent now changed from observation to confrontation. As she drew close to them, however, she saw them enter the Hall. She hooted in frustration as she landed in her own form before the door, examining the portal quickly before slamming her fist against it. _Locked. Only the High Councilors have that knowledge, and we usually know better than to use it. He truly_ does _mean mischief._

Fear moved through her, and she quickly took to the air in a different form, this time of a peregrine falcon. Speed, not secrecy, was now her driving goal as she winged towards her abode, trusting to her form to get her home far more quickly than two clumsy feet would allow. _Something is wrong. Something is very, very_ wrong. Emma vhenan, _hear me!_

She arrived home out of breath, diving in through a hole made expressly for the purpose. Blurring in midair, she landed in a heap of silver hair and light blue robes on her bed, panting from her exertions. _"Emma vhenan_ , hear me!"

"I am here, _emma sa'lath_ ," a deep voice answered. Strong arms wrapped around her, and the scent of the wild filled the air about them, filling her nostrils with the scent of loam and sap, fear and blood. "What is wrong? What has happened?" He turned her to face him, scrutinizing her face. "You're trembling. What has frightened you so?"

She met his eyes, laboring to catch her breath. Brushing her almost white hair from her eyes, she forced herself to speak. "Liniathalan – his eyes." She gasped for breath even as her Master tensed. “Turned to black, black as coal.”

His amber gaze sharpened as his grip shifted to her shoulders and tightened, a growl emanating from deep within his chest. "You’re certain of this?"

“Absolutely, Master. His eyes should be shards of ice, visible even at night. Now…” She shook her head again, his reaction frightening her all the more. “Master, what is wrong?”

His fingers tightened on her shoulders. "Do you know where he lives?"

Shivering at the bleak expression in his eyes, she nodded, even as she whispered, “Master? Please, tell me what I must do. He’s still a friend.”

Eyes narrowing, he released her, feathers already sprouting from his arms. "Take me there."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An explanation of Elvhen time as kept in Arlathan: 
> 
> hand - five days  
> span - 100 years  
> aeon - 1000 years 
> 
> .~^~.
> 
> Elvhen terms: 
> 
> Creators - the Gods of the Elvhen  
> Fen'Harel - Dreadful Wolf  
> Emma vhenan - my heart  
> Emma sa'lath - my one love


	10. When the Dead Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Unbeing dead isn't being alive.”
> 
> \--e.e. cummings

.~^~.

The peregrines flew through the night, winging over Arlathan as they raced against a deadline they knew existed but could not perceive. Tallathian felt her Master's slow burning anger and latent fear in the back of her mind, and the combination spurred her to the limits of speed afforded by her form. _Why is he so upset? What could possibly have triggered this reaction?_ Although she did not know what had darkened the eyes of her fellow High Councilor from ice blue to black, it was obvious that the change was of tremendous significance, or her Master would not be driving them so ruthlessly towards the home of the reclusive Elnathanè.

After several minutes of hard flying, when she was sure that they were in the vicinity of Elnathanè's abode, she shifted in midair to her elf owl form, searching the darkness below her for the telltale purple vines that enshrouded her fellow Councilor's house. As she caught sight of them, she banked into a steep dive that ended at the threshold of his house, her Master close behind. Before she could even finish shifting into her native form, Fen'Vhenan had moved his hand over the door and opened it.

As they walked into the house, the unmistakable smell of copper washed over them. Exchanging a swift glance with the being beside her, she nodded and began leading the way to Elnathanè's bed chamber in the back of the house. She felt a lupine presence behind her as her Master padded after her, now wearing a skin with four legs and claws.

The sharp metallic scent grew stronger as they approached the closed door fashioned from the purple vines of which Elnathanè was so fond. Hesitating beside the door, knowing what she was likely to find, she looked down at the amber eyes of the large wolf at her side. He growled, mane rising, and thus confirmed her fear of what they would find within.

With a swiftly gathered spell, she obliterated the door, readying a further blast to deal with whatever lay inside.

She saw a blur of motion from within the room as a dark _something_ on the bed turned to look at her. Hissing, it started to lash out of her, only to be stopped by a large furred form that flew past her and tackled it. Sure in the knowledge that her Master would make swift work of his opponent, Tallathian quickly surveyed the rest of the room, seeking any further enemies. When none presented itself, she returned her attention to the other side of the room where the two combatants waged a swift but brutal battle. Just as she wondered how to intervene without inadvertently putting her Master to disadvantage, Fen'Vhenan grabbed his assailant's neck in his massive jaws and jerked his head sharply to the side. A dull _crack_ echoed through the room, and the dark form fell, motionless, to the ground.

Yet its raspy breathing continued to echo throughout the chamber.

Breaking her own stunned reverie, she summoned a globe of light above her head so that she could see all within the room.

Her attention was first drawn to the still form that lay upon the bed, awash in blood and viscera. Approaching the corpse slowly, she felt her eyes fill with tears as she recognized the brutalized form of Elnathanè, one of the last elves save herself that had been present at the Founding of Arlathan. Even in death, his ice blue eyes seemed to twinkle with extra energy, almost seeking to deny the blood-saturated bedclothes upon which the body rested.

Swallowing harshly, she forced herself to analyze the body _in situ_. With a sickening lurch in her stomach, she recognized that the Councilor's torso had been split open _while he had still been alive_ , and, judging from the look of utter agony on the elf's face and the evident bite marks on his internal organs that lay scattered across the bed, it was equally evident that the assailant had begun the consumption of his prey before the elf had fully succumbed to his wounds. Swallowing against the bile that rose in her throat, she closed her eyes for a few seconds to recover from the initial shock of the brutality that had been visited upon her old friend's fragile body.

When she was convinced that she could do so without emptying her stomach, she reached down and gently closed the staring eyes. Placing her hands on his forehead, she bowed her head in respect for Elnathanè: rival, friend, and, ultimately, stranger – yet still one who deserved a far better ending than to be ripped to shreds within the supposed security of his own home. Speaking in the oldest dialect - the original form - of the Elvhen, she spoke one of the oldest and yet least used rituals of Elvhenan: the blessing of Falon'Din. "Hahren na melana sahlin. Emma ir abelas. Vir numin halam. Elnathanè, emma lethallin, dareth shiral in Falon'din ven an'din."  _Elder, your time is come. Now I am filled in sorrow. We cry at your end. Elnathanè, my friend, farewell. May Falon'din guide you safely to the Beyond._

A hand dropped onto her shoulder. "I do not wish to interrupt, but you must see this."

Wiping away the tears, silently promising her old friend that he would receive a proper burial in the roots of the First Tree, she followed her Master to stand at the side of his still wheezing assailant.

And stopped, rocked to her core as she finally recognized the nature of their enemy.

Kneeling beside the silent form, she moved her hand down the scaly side of the supine figure, tracing the outline of an as-yet underdeveloped wing and feeling her way along the stark ribs to the long, elegant neck and ultimately to the many toothed jaw, the whole amounting to a being that she had not laid eyes upon in aeons.

_"Minauri_ ," she whispered in fascinated horror.

"Worse," Fen'Vhenan murmured, startling her with his sudden nearness. "A _dead_ Minauri _._ " Placing a hand on the ribcage to assure herself that the breathing was not a figment of her imagination, she started to object to her Master's statement when he placed a thin finger on her lips and added, "The eyes. Look _within_ the eyes and tell me what you see."

Puzzled by this demand, she took the head within her hands and met the dark gaze of the young Minauri.

_Around her was nothing, and worse than nothing. Upon death, even for those who were not of the Elvhen, the soul should move into the realm of Falon'din, to rest and comfort, surrounded by those who left life before them. Instead, it was a vast void of nothingness, despair, and hate, and throughout the emptiness rang the song of Darkness, of taint and corruption: the song of Geldauran. This Minauri, killed in the massacre of long and long ago, had not been allowed the simple joy of death, but rather, been forced into a pocket of terror and fear, never to know peace, never to be reborn into the tapestry of Thedas. Only despair and hate and rage, forever and ever._

With a gasp, she pushed the head away, reflexively dragging herself away from the monster in terror. "No, that—that's impossible!"

Her Master exhaled heavily, as if the weight of Thedas lay upon his shoulders. "No, _that_ is the reason why I told my brothers and sisters to desist in the War against the _Minauri_. The Ancient Ones were well aware of the pending Elvhen attack against their children, and they… _modified_ them before the final battle so that _this_ would occur." Gently, almost tenderly, the Wolf reached down and placed his hand upon the young Minauri's head. "I am sorry, _da'len lath'din a'Geldauran._ You and yours have always deserved more than your Gods saw fit to bestow upon you."

Abruptly his hands glowed, and the entire body of the Minarui _da'len_ began to glow with it. Turning her eyes from the light, Tallathian buried her head in her hands as an all-too-familiar whining cut through the air. When the sound had faded, she turned to find Fen'Vhenan resting with his hands flat upon the floor.

The young Minauri was gone.

Meeting his amber gaze, she whispered, heartsick, "How could they _do_ that to their _own children_?" She shuddered. "To be denied Falon'din's embrace, to be denied the Golden City, and forced into an eternity of… of that _taint…_ "

The events of the last few minutes finally caught up with her. With a small, sad sigh, she collapsed onto the ground, lapsing into weary oblivion.

.~^~.

Carefully gathering his Avatar into his arms, Fen'Vhenan lightly stroked her face, wishing that he could spare her from what was to come, knowing that he would not.

_You forgot to ask the most important question of all,_ emma sa'lath, he mused silently as he gazed down on her heartrendingly familiar features. _If Elnathanè lies dead in his own bed, who did you see walking at the side of young Liniathalan?_

With a weary prescience, he closed his eyes and held her closer, ever closer. _"Ir abelas, emma sa'lath._ Not even I can stop what is to come now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvhen terms:
> 
> Da'len lath'din a'Geldauran - little child, unloved and unwanted, of Geldauran  
> Da'len - small child  
> Durgen'len - literally, "Children of the stone", i.e., dwarves  
> Emma vhenan - my heart  
> Ir abelas, emma sa'lath - I am sorry, my one true love  
> Geldauran - One of the Ancient Ones  
> Falon'Din - Creator who took the spirits of Elvhen dead to the Beyond (Elvhen afterlife)


	11. Compulsion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "When you look into an abyss, the abyss also looks into you."
> 
> -Friedrich Nietzsche

.~^~.

Liniathalan maintained his silence throughout the brisk journey through the streets of Arlathan, content to merely observe his guide. He had deduced that the High Councilor was leading him to the Hall Outside Time, but as no explanation was offered, he refused to attempt to solicit one. The subtle battle of wills begun in the Great House of Knowledge continued in minute ways, after all. Thus when Elnathanè drew to a halt in front of the oldest structure of Arlathan, he remained unsurprised and quiet, waiting for the other to initiate conversation.

"It is said," the other stated in a calm voice, "that the Hall Outside Time was sculpted by the hands of the Creators at the beginning of all things. It is said that we were brought into being within its hallowed chambers, to the joy and wonderment of those who Created us. It is said that so long as the Hall stands, so too shall Elvhenan endure." He glanced at the younger elf, dark eyes glittering in the moonlight. "Surely you have heard these tales."

Liniathalan tilted his head. "The Elvhen are the children of the Creators. This is known throughout Elvhenan. As such, or so it is said," he deliberately mirrored the other's word choice, "we enjoy special privileges as the oldest thinking creatures on Thedas." He hesitated, remembering all that he had read in Fen'Harel's hidden library, knowing there was plenty of evidence to contradict that statement. "I sought you out because I have come to believe there is... more in our history than is typically _said._ " It was a bold statement to make, perhaps, but the other elf _had_ used the word _tales_ , after all: hardly an indication he believed that the words he had spoken were absolute truth.

Elnathanè sighed, returning his dark gaze to the crenellated façade and soaring spires of the Hall before them. "It is beautiful, is it not? Beautiful enough to have been constructed by the Creators." He shook his head. "Beautiful enough to make one believe the lies." Again he turned to face the younger elf. "I wish I knew what stirs within you, Liniathalan. When first you arrived in Arlathan, I perceived within you great power and discipline, on a level that I hadn't seen in aeons within the city itself. You have proven yourself many times since arriving here, in both discretion and subtlety. Oh yes, I have watched you. I have seen you navigate through the vicissitudes of Arlathan, particularly its Council, with the skill of a native while maintaining the skepticism of the outsider, and I have seen the disquiet in you of late. Uncertainty, almost, in one whose purpose had previously been almost unshakeable." He paused in his litany, scrutinizing the slender form of Liniathalan. "I am glad you sought me out."

He forced himself not to blink, considering how recalcitrant Elnathanè had seemed in the library. "Forgive me, but you certainly didn't seem very... enthusiastic." 

The High Councilor chuckled. "Allow an old elf his amusements," he murmured. "Besides, you are not the first who has sought me out so assiduously, merely the first to be worthy of my attention." And with that, he pressed his hand to the septagonal white disc of stone to the left of the wall where the door would appear, twisting it slowly as he opened the Hall Outside Time. The magic of the Hall vibrated the stones around them for a moment, and the door appeared, its flat, silvery surface gleaming softly in the moonlight. "Come, let us continue this discussion within." He gestured, indicating Liniathalan should precede him.

Liniathalan did so, quiet once more. He suspected it was time to observe and listen once more.

As he passed through the silvery portal, Liniathalan felt that odd sensation of stepping beyond Time that invariably washed over him when he entered the Hall. He blinked his eyes rapidly, the brighter than usual light of transition overwhelming his vision for a few moments. As he did so, a suspicion arose:  _this is not the Hall of the Council._  Glancing around sharply, he realized that, although he had passed through the door that had before taken him to the Council Chambers, he now stood in an entirely different room.  In his research, he had come across hints and speculation that  _all_  times, all places, could somehow be reached through the Hall, but nothing concrete, and certainly no method to achieve such an end. 

Gone was the round central table around which the Council sat, devising policy and dispensing rulings. Gone were the marble walls and delicate vines, and the open roof that always, no matter the weather in Arlathan, showed a beautiful sunny expanse of turquoise. Gone was any indication that they were in a place he even _knew_. Around him, he saw only stone – not stone worked by the hands of the dwarves of Kal'Sharok, nor yet living stone sculpted by the hands of Elvhen mages. _This_ stone was pitted deep and scored with flame and heat, with claw and fang, and the alcove reeked of hatred, vengeance, and some indefinable dry yet acrid scent that he could not immediately place. Walking over to the nearest wall, he placed a hand upon it, probing with his mind and his magical senses, attempting to discern the nature of this place.

A sense of permanence washed over him, of a time before time began. Memories that did not belong to him moved through his awareness, and he saw beings that he could not identify walking upon six legs, sky red as blood and oceans green as the changeless leaves of the First Tree. Abruptly his inner vision flickered, and before him rose a world with no land at all, only swirling mists and jagged streaks of lightning piercing the air as creatures larger than trees floated endlessly, silently, through the chaotic winds and churning maelstrom of crackling, deadly atmosphere. Again, a flicker, and again a shift in perception, this time to a place where the land appeared dead and barren, devoid of any life whatsoever save for the last remnants of shaped metal that hinted at a civilization long dead and buried.

Tearing himself from the wall, he collapsed onto the floor, panting heavily. _By the Creators, what was that?_

"Well met, Councilor," a voice spoke from behind him. "Well met, indeed."

Scrambling to his feet even as he turned to face the source of the words, Liniathalan found himself standing before an elf unknown to him, one who radiated a subtle power vastly different from his own. In fact, the elf himself seemed… _wrong_ somehow, though Liniathalan could not place exactly _how_ it was wrong. His mind struggled against a strange fog that suddenly seemed to have seized it, and he put his hands on his temples, trying to drive the heaviness from his mind. _I have felt this kind of power before… Where-?_ He struggled to recall when he had felt it before, and an image began to form in his mind, of an elf in the robes of a Deep Scholar with brown hair and the eyes of a wolf…

The figure across from him waved a hand negligently, and the image vanished.

Shaking his head, Liniathalan recalled his manners and bowed formally, holding out his hands for the ritualistic greeting. The other elf, amusement in his eyes, shook his head in negation. "No need, young one." Piercing eyes that seemed almost bottomless holes of darkness moved over Liniathalan's face. "As I said, I have been observing you, and I approved of what I saw."

Fuzzily, Liniathalan tried to make sense of that statement. "I... I don't recall meeting you before," he ventured. His head throbbed with pain, making it difficult to remember, an odd keening sound overriding his thoughts. "I thought... I thought it was Elnathanè that said--" Unable to suppress a wince, he pressed a hand to his head, fighting the odd pain.

The one across from him walked forward and put his hands on his head. Immediately, the pain ceased, and Liniathalan gasped in relief. "There is only me, young one. The others matter not." He put a finger under Liniathalan's chin and raised it, and at the touch, the previously unbearable keening became a soft, beautiful hum. "I have need of one such as you. I have decided to give you the opportunity to learn at my feet, Liniathalan, _Strong of Blood_. But first, I would know: what is it that started you on this path? What drove you to seek that which those older and more experienced than you considered wise enough to leave alone?"

Liniathalan met his gaze, thoughts swirling with the many responses he could provide to this question, sensing the test that lay beneath the words of the one standing before him. _But a test of what? Honesty? Perception? Knowledge? Ambition?_

And the name that Fen'Harel had used to open the secret Archive rose, unbidden, in his mind, a name that he yet knew little about but which he sensed lay at the heart of that which he sought to uncover. A sense of inevitability settled over him as he said simply, "Geldauran."

Satisfaction flashed across the other's face, quickly suppressed. Nodding his head in acknowledgment, the elf said, "That is a suitable response." Suddenly his eyes loomed large in front of Liniathalan. "You will come to know  my name and its power very well, young Liniathalan. And in return, I will give you knowledge equal to what you desire."

As his mind closed in around him, held by the mesmerizing power of the Ancient One's gaze, Liniathalan heard a soft, subtle melody waft its way through the cave around him. _That song,_ he thought into the dark chasm of the God's power. _So… beautiful…_


	12. To Love is To Betray

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you know what love is? I'll tell you: it is whatever you can still betray."
> 
> – John le Carre, The Looking Glass War

.~^~.

_She slowly became aware of the sensation of hard lips pressing lingering kisses on her face and neck, tracing the line of her jaw, following the pulse of her blood, and working their way down the graceful slope of her shoulder. Pleasurable shivers coursed through her as warmth began to build, invoking subtle tremors throughout her body as she began to twist in response to the seeking mouth. Hands joined the lips, freely wandering over her nude body, reveling in her lush curves and soft flesh._

_As her body melted beneath the heat of carnal worship, her mind struggled to remember where she was, how she had come to be here, and why she couldn't quite open her eyes. Even as the sensual assault continued, a still small voice within screamed at her, urging her to action, to arms._

_And yet the roving fingers and busy tongue fought to capture and hold her attention. The fire was intoxicating, burning away lingering doubts and hesitation as it filled her core, and she could not imagine wanting to put a stop to it based on a few nebulous internal whispers. Instinctively her arms and legs entwined he who slowly devoured her, blissfully unaware of the fog that shrouded her consciousness and warped her thoughts._

_At last the two became as one, joined in the most intimate fashion granted by the Creators, each urging the other towards the pinnacle of pleasure which marked the end of the journey of bliss. When the wave of tingling heat finally swept over and through her, her back arched, inadvertently pulling their faces apart. His fingers dug tightly into her back, drawing him down to lie flat against her, his head burrowing into the crook of her neck. A strangled gasp escaped from his lips as his essence filled her womb, and then the languorous lethargy of sexual depletion ran through both of them as he collapsed, panting, on top of her._

_Her hands reached instinctively to run through his hair, seeking the thick strands of shoulder length mane to which she was accustomed. Instead, her fingers found themselves playing with fine filaments of silk such as she had only encountered with her_ Elvhen _lovers. The recognition of the disparity shocked her into full awareness, at last piercing the fog that had settled over her mind and clouded her thoughts._

_She opened her eyes, automatically seeking the face of her lover._

_Liniathalan's face hovered over hers, lips drawn in a possessive smile. "You are_ mine  _now,_ emma sa'lath _," he murmured. "You will always be mine."_

A strangled gasp escaped her lips as she surged out of slumber, heart racing. Her body was slick with sweat in reaction to her dream, and the echoes of her release lingered in delightful twinges that worked through her torso. _By my Master, I've never – that hasn't—_ Shaking her head, she swept her blankets aside, putting her head in her hands while she sought to push the last remnants of the disturbing imagery from her head. _I've never felt so… helpless in the Beyond during my sleep before. What happened?_

Forcing herself to rise, she stumbled to the bathroom, hoping that some cold water on her face would sharpen her senses and pull her completely from the stupor of confusion. As the chilled water dripped off her face and soaked the collar of her nightgown, she gradually came back to herself, breathing in long, steady breaths until her thoughts were clear once more, free of the fog and confusion of her nightmare.

Glancing out the small window above the bathtub, she saw the stars twinkling above, and smiled. _The night desires company, it would seem. Perhaps it is time to pay an old friend a visit._

And so it was that, an hour later, she entered the Garden of Serenity, procured her habitual flask of bilberry wine, and walked into the trees, allowing the sensation of life to wash over her in a glorious wave, letting it fill her and push out the darkness that had accumulated in the cracks and crevices deep within. Breathing deeply, she stopped and looked up, regarding the stark perfection of the stars: distant and far, yet still beautiful and intimate.

 _*Ah, Fleet of Foot, you return.*_ _Wind Over Still Waters_ moved to stand at her side. Though not as spry as the young doe that she had been when they first formed their spiritual partnership, her spirit yet shone bright as the full moon.  _*I sense great happenings in the city beyond my home. Is it of these matters you wish to unburden yourself here?*_

Tallathian smiled, placing her arm around the smooth white neck. "I have missed you, my friend."

 _*And I you, Fleet of Foot.*_ With no more words spoken, they proceeded along their usual path, eventually reaching the Second Tree that she had planted, all those aeons ago. They settled onto its roots, as they had done many times before, and stared at the stars in a gentle rapport of peace. The anxiety that had penetrated her mien over the last two hands began to dissipate, allowing her to relax her shoulders and breathe without worry. Sipping at her bilberry wine, she became lost in thought until the _halla_ nudged at her elbow. _*Come. It is time we talked.*_

Sighing, Tallathian leaned back against the trunk of the tree, welcoming the soothing humming of life within. "Yes." Taking a sip of wine before beginning, she said, "I laid one of my oldest friends to final rest a hand past."

 _*Ah,*_ the _halla_ said sadly. _*I know that you_ _had become rather distant from Elnathanè in recent spans, but… you were yet fond of him, I know.*_

She nodded. "Aye. And he deserved better than such a brutal death." Bowing her head, she fell silent for a moment. "I laid him to rest below the roots of the First Tree, where his parents were laid to rest after they fell in the War… I daresay none in Arlathan ever thought to again send another to that embrace." A shudder ran through her body as she recalled that somber day. "So few of the _Elvhen_ within Arlathan have seen death, much less one of such a violent nature. And the loss of a High Councilor in this manner…"

The _halla_ laid her chin in a comforting manner upon Tallathian's arm. _*And yet, there is more. The emotions swirl with uncertainty within the city, and my People are being called to our duties with far more frequency these last few hands, for the souls of those who live here are uncertain and burdened with fear. Please, Fleet of Foot, tell me all. We are concerned for those whose lives we share.*_

She leaned her head against the _halla'_ s horns, as she had many times before, seeking the comfort that only the _halla_ , with their clear eyes and pure souls, could provide. "There _is_ more. More disturbing, even than Elnathanè's death, was the being that caused his death." She shuddered, remembering that awful night in her old friend's home. She told _Wind Over Still Waters_ everything, save for Fen'Vhenan's involvements: her discovery of the Minauri _da'len_ , and, worse still, the horror she had experienced when she had sought the Minauri's soul and found only the emptiness of the Void and the song of Geldauran.

"And the _other_ implications... No matter what it was, it penetrated the defenses of the Guardians to perform the deed, defenses we thought inviolable. Now there are those crying for answers, still others who wish to push all those not born of Arlathan out and seal the borders behind them with stronger magic, and the small minority that tries to counsel patience and good sense. Never have we of Arlathan been so divided amongst ourselves."

She sighed, coming at last to what was truly bothering her, more than any other aspect. "And Liniathalan has not been seen since that night almost two hands ago. He was a prominent figure in Arlathan, popular and well-known, and his disappearance has done nothing but unsettle the situation further."

Her disturbing dream returned to her in all its vividness, raising her temperature and speeding her pulse. She shivered as her logic fought with her carnality, the one struggling to remind her of honor and duty, the other - fresher and more insistent - reminding her of shared secrets and shivers.

_*This... concerns you a great deal. Why is that?*_

She shook her head to clear her thoughts, once more closing her eyes and pressing a hand to her forehead. "Because he was the last seen to enter the Hall Outside Time. And the Hall..." She took a sip of bilberry wine to counter the sudden dryness in her mouth. "For the first time since the Founding, the Elvhen cannot enter the Hall. There is a dome surrounding it, a dome of some strange energy that not even our finest mages can penetrate, much less understand." Even now, those same mages were arrayed around the Hall, unmoving as they had been since the night of Liniathalan's disappearance, intent in the ever-continuing effort to analyze and understand the strange black barrier.

She frowned, remembering Fan'Vhenan's response that same night upon seeing the seething, restless black shape around the Hall Outside Time. He had taken one look at the barrier, growled, and spat, _"Brother."_ Without another word, he had dashed from the square, his shift to wolf form unnoticed in the growing commotion.

She had not seen him since.

Returning her attention to the halla, she took up the thread of her explanation. "And so matters proceed with a speed and urgency unheard of in Arlathan. Since that night, each day has seen me closeted with the remaining High Councilors, attempting to determine the full ramification of these events, what we need to do to protect Arlathan, and how to deal with... what I sensed in the Minauri _da'len_." She shuddered.

_The taint…_

She forced herself to continue. "And now the delegation from Minrathous has arrived, on top of everything else, and I have been designated to deal with them." She smiled ruefully. "I suppose as the only Councilor fluent in Tevene, it was inevitable that I would be required."  _The only Councilor save for Liniathalan,_ her treacherous thoughts reminded her. When word had first arrived from the Imperium announcing the incipient arrival of their delegation, before her reappearance and his disappearance, it had been assumed that _he_ would fulfill the role of liaison between Elvhenan and the the Tevinter Imperium.

 _How quickly we have been forced to change plans,_ she mused. _And abrupt changes never sit well with my People._ Breathing deeply, she hooked an arm over the _halla'_ s neck. "And that is why I'm here, my friend. To escape the many burdens that I will resume when I again step out." Leaning her head back against the trunk of the tree, she whispered, "Is it any wonder I wish to stay here a little while longer?"

 _*Then remain, Fleet of Foot.*_ She felt the _halla_ 's gift of peace wash over her, soothing her immensely. _*Center yourself, find your ground, and leave when you are truly prepared, and not a moment before.*_

As she drifted into a half sleep at the _halla_ 's urging, she snuggled against her old friend, knowing that, if nothing else, it could all wait until morning. "I just wish I knew where he was..."

And in that moment, she didn't know if she referred to Liniathalan, or her Master.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An explanation of Elvhen time as kept in Arlathan: 
> 
> hand - five days  
> span - 100 years  
> aeon - 1000 years 
> 
> .~^~.
> 
> Elvhen terms: 
> 
> Emma sa'lath - my one love


	13. Mist and Shadow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Fog clouds vision, both of the eye and of the mind, but it is the fog of the mind that inflicts the most lasting damage."
> 
> -Tevarus, First Scholar to Archon Darinius

.~^~.

 

Tevarus stared at the fogbank that stretched from east to west as far as the eye could see on either side of the River Maeron. As their ship rocked gently up and down in the subtle current of the river, waiting for the arrival of the Arlathan liaison, he strained to catch a glimpse of motion within the fog. _Master Tiberian was right:_ _the first defense of Arlathan against attack from the sea is not sword and steel, but mist and shadow._

A grimace formed on his lips as he pondered the conundrum, his thoughts returning to the final injunction from the Archon before leaving Minrathous.  _"Find their weakness,"_ Darinius had ordered. _"Find all areas we can exploit, whether of physical defense or internal politics. Let them think I send you with unreasonable demands only to return empty handed, but learn everything you can of them before you return. By the will of Dumat."_ Together they had touched their fingers to their lips, in obedience to Dumat, God of Silence.

Glancing at the men gathered in a cluster behind him on the deck, Tevarus noted the superstitious hand signals used by the Tevene crewmen – the fingers over mouth for Dumat to silence all evil, the wriggling fingers to symbolize Toth whose flames burned all foes – and smiled slightly. _Thus do we comfort ourselves with empty gestures and ritual._ Shaking his head, he returned his gaze to the mystery of the fogbank, once again trying to penetrate its secrets. _I wondered why the Captain insisted we would be unable to take the ship all the way to Arlathan._ He shivered in the cooling air as twilight approached. _I just hope the liaison arrives soon. I've no wish to stay upon the river all night._

His eyes focused on a slight movement within the white blankness of the fog. _Was that-?_ he wondered. As if in answer to his thought, a long, elegant vessel emerged. At its helm stood a slim figure in a hooded cloak, hands folded and head bowed. As the ship swiftly approached, Tevarus fought the urge to brace himself in anticipation of a crash, forcing himself to trust in his hosts and in their commitment to accept him as long as no Magisters were in his party. Surely they wouldn't sink his ship as soon as he arrived.

As the ship grew closer, he repeated it to himself, a bit nervously: _Surely._

Sure enough, the Elvhen vessel angled as it approached the white pole to which the Tevinter ship was anchored. As it slowed to a graceful stop next to them, the lone figure raised its hands to the cloak's cowl and threw it back to reveal pale skin, luminescent hair, and pointed ears. The scholar - _Ambassador_ , he reminded himself - watched silently as the figure walked to the edge of the deck on the white ship. To his mild surprise, he noted that their guide was a woman, one possessed of an ethereal beauty that seemed perfectly at one with the white starkness of the fogbank that framed her figure, lending her the appearance of a spirit more than a real person, an impression enhanced by her pale lavender eyes and the tattoo of the same color on her cheeks and forehead.

Faint memory and re-reading of his Master's meticulous notes guided his steps to stand opposite the liaison. In clear tones, he spoke and held out his hands, palms facing the sky. "The blessings of your Creators upon you. May your Creator find you in good health and peace this day." Not the _exact_ wording as notated by Tiberian, but close enough to show a minimum familiarity with their culture.

Even from this distance he could see the surprise cross the other's face as she hurriedly brought her own hands up, palms outward. "And may your Gods grant you blessing and purpose."

Having completed the ritual and established his credentials in one smooth maneuver, Tevarus pressed his palms together in front of him and bowed towards the elf, adding the traditional Tevene greeting: "In all that you do, may you succeed and thrive."

The elf hesitated before coping his physical motion. "I bring you the welcome of the Council of Elvhenan. They acknowledge the delegation from the Tevinter Imperium and grant you entry into Arlathan." With a slight inclination of her head, she added, "You may call me Tallathian, Ambassador." She gestured, and some elves behind quickly brought forward a long, sturdy plank to temporarily cover the distance between the two ships. "Come, Deep Scholar. Come to our lands. Walk beneath the trees and feel the wind on your face." A smile touched her lips. "Come, and behold the perfection that is Arlathan."

Tevarus bowed deeply. "I would be honored, Tallathian of Arlathan."

With only a mild sense of trepidation, he marched across the makeshift bridge, feeling no alteration as he left Tevene territory and entered Elvhenan in full for the first time since leaving Minrathous.

.~^~.

Tallathian collapsed into a chair, drained after the first negotiating session with Ambassador Tevarus. Though Tevarus himself was thoughtful and reasonable, the demands and expectations of his Archon were unacceptable, particularly since there was still no consensus in the Council as to how the _shemlen_ as a whole should be handled. At this point, it would be best to merely listen to him, nod her head, and then refuse to sign anything until he left or a reasonable treaty was offered - and she tended to think the latter an impossibility, considering the arrogance of Darinius.

Pushing the thoughts out of her head, she pushed herself up and over to the bathroom, deciding that a bath sounded absolutely divine. Piped as it was from a natural heat spring, she didn't have to do anything other than remove her flowing green gown, loosen her hair, and step into the basin using the smooth steps that had been coaxed from the living stone with subtle magic. Relaxing into the warmth, she spread her arms wide, letting the water enfold her in its steamy embrace. The sound of her small water movements filled the air as she closed her eyes and began to breathe deeply, reveling in the clean mineral scent of the water.

"Well, now, isn't this an absolutely _enchanting_ sight," a voice breathed in her ear.

Startled, she opened her eyes and tried to surge upright, stopped by two hands that pushed down her shoulders. Lips suckled at the pointed tip of her ear, pulling blood to the surface with friction and heat before moving down, lightly nibbling along its sensitive outline as, the accompanying breath sending erotic shivers down her spine. "Please, let me indulge myself outside of the Beyond," he murmured, hands wandering lower. One began stroking the long column of her neck, while the other came to rest on one of her breasts, lightly caressing it.

"Liniathalan," she gasped, struggling to free herself from his grasp even as his grip on her neck tightened into a chokehold. A chill consumed her as a darkness slipped through her mental defenses, seeking weakness and acceptance. It penetrated her psyche and found that lingering lust still in her mind from her dream of Liniathalan the previous night, and drew that moment to the forefront of her mind, forcing her thoughts to conform to that desire above all else. Her worries and concerns, her fear and reluctance, all melted away as this new, artificially manipulated desire took hold of her. It was if a vast fog enveloped all parts of her awareness that did not need Liniathalan's touch, effectively reducing her to a single, burning thought: _submission_.

Her struggles ceased as her mind and body accepted his attentions without reservation.

"Ah, that name is music to my ears when you utter it." The hand on her neck resumed its steady stroking, up and down, bit by bit expanding the movement until it reached from her lower lip to the space between her breasts. His warm breath, meanwhile, moved from her ear to her cheek, then down the side of her neck, seeking the sensitive spot below which her blood pulsed. Finding the swiftly beating point, his lips latched on and formed a vacuum, creating an overwhelming heat in that one incredibly sensitive area even as his hands continued their maddening caresses, moving over her writhing torso at will.

"So beautiful," he whispered. His body swung around and entered the bath with her, his naked body pressing against her nudity. She felt his readiness, his strength, his greed…

The water swirled about them, enveloping them in intoxicating heat as he began to re-enact the dream from her slumber, save that it was _real_ , she was  _awake_ , and she knew who he was. Her mind fought the fog, strove to reach her Master, but his fingers carefully traced the line of her jaw, the gesture strengthening his mysterious hold on her thoughts. "Ah, ah, ah, let's not bring him into this, shall we? You are mine, now, are you not?" His arms wrapped around her, drawing her up against him so that he could consume her more readily, using lips and tongue to darken her pale skin as he desired.

As his hands and mouth continued their exploration, she felt the sensation of magic building around them, the warp and weft of it stirring within her in a disturbing fashion, infusing that dark fog deep within her and smothering her will, invading her very blood and turning it from her Master's service to he who now dictated Liniathalan's actions. She renewed her weakened struggles as recognition came to her of what was being done, but it was too late.

The song filled her mind, delicately weaving new thoughts, new commands, a new devotion... The blood magic, powered by the siren of a god, filled her and used her, reshaping her into a willing vessel.

_"Master..."_ she murmured, wrapping her arms around his neck and lifting herself to press against him.

"I am here," Liniathalan replied, a satisfied smile on his face and a gleam of lust in his black eyes. "I am here."


	14. When Darkness Falls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “There is only what you want and what happens. There is only grabbing on and holding tight in the darkness.”
> 
> \- Lauren Oliver, Hana

.~^~.

She opened her eyes, staring at the canopy of flowers and tree branches overhead. Taking a deep breath, she caught the whiff of sex and sweat mixed with despair and fear, a delicious confection that brought a smile to her face. Turning her head, she regarded the conscious but unmoving form next to her. His golden eyes stared at her, unblinking, as they had since she had shoved him aside after being sated. Pushing herself onto one elbow, she ran her fingers over his face and down the line of his still-naked body.

"Liniathalan." The slight tremor that sang under her fingers as she said his name reflected the terror that flashed through his fixed gaze. "You were... convenient, I suppose." The fingers turned into talons and raked him from shoulder to groin, leaving gashes of red as she pulled viscera from his torso and left skin and organs in ragged ruin. To amplify his agony, she suppressed his ability to physically react to the pain, permitting not even a whimper, though the sheets below him quickly became saturated with crimson. Perhaps his eyes glistened from unshed tears, but she didn't care about such details.

She left him to die in terror where he lay, savoring both his awareness of the pain and his helplessness to remedy it. Stretching languorously, she idly watched her hand return to the form of delicately tapered fingers and nails, the blood simply... _absorbed_. Replete from her morning repast of dread and torture, she moved from the bed to stand before the mirror. The air shimmered around her, draping her nude form with a gown of wispy black silk that covered her from head to toe, hiding the marks of their savage fornication while still leaving little to the imagination.

She pondered her reflection while her hair arranged itself elaborately, admiring how the hue of the dress matched the stygian darkness of her eyes. She frowned at the lavender color of the tattoo on her face, then pulled her fingertips over the inked lines, leaving black in their wake. For a moment she pondered altering her hair as well, but decided in the end that the silver-white tint was quite complimentary to her new black ensemble, and would also be more difficult to explain away than the eyes or ink, should any bother to inquire about the alteration. 

With a nod of satisfaction, she breathed deeply, the lingering scents of sweat and sex now mixed with the copper tang of blood, and sighed in contentment. "What a lovely way to start the day," she murmured to the reflection in front of her. With a giggle of delight, she swept from the room and ventured into the city proper. She had a meeting with that Ambassador, after all, and didn't want to be late.

_So much to do..._

As she moved through the streets of Arlathan, she watched the Elvhen she passed with a clinical detachment, pondering the lives of the ignorant fools. _Ah, how you have changed in the aeons since I last walked Thedas. So confident, so sure of yourselves, so..._ complacent  _and naive._ A smile stole over her face. _How convenient._

She started to hum softly, a song that made heads jerk and feet freeze in their tracks: a song that spoke to them in the darkest corners of their souls. Images of stifling depths far away from the light overwhelmed their thoughts with black despair, filling them with terror and malice long forgotten. Her path through Arlathan was marked by crowds of Elvhen falling to their knees in tears, with no recollection of how the darkness had suddenly come upon them.

A decent beginning, but the day was young yet. Looking up at the sun to gauge the time, she decided she had just enough before her meeting with the Tevene to visit a Garden and their omnipresent  _halla_. "I wonder if they enjoy music," she murmured, then set her path towards the nearest Garden, not even noticing as the air darkened around her.

.~^~.

Slowly she swam through the sea of her mind, fighting the song that had claimed her. The Darkness it left in its wake was all-consuming, clinging to each and every thought as she fought her way to the surface, striving to escape. She dared not open her mouth, dared not open her eyes. She forced herself to hold her breath:  _anything_ to avoid taking in more of the Darkness than she already had. Her hands reached up to cover her ears as she struggled against the entrancing melody that seemed to be everywhere around her, subsuming her entire being into its dancing notes.

Fighting the urge to scream lest she open her mouth and invite in further corruption, she curled into a fetal position, utilizing the discipline of aeons to shut out everything around her that was not herself. Buffeted by the onslaught, she did not for a moment give up the battle against her unwelcome guest, for to slacken her efforts would mean a fate far worse than mere death. _Fen'Vhenan, sustain me,_ she prayed.

If there was a reply, Tallathian did not hear it.

.~^~.

He placed the quill pen on the small desk beside him, suppressing a sigh. The next meeting with Tallathian was scheduled to begin in a few minutes. So far, she had been unwilling to do more than mouth polite phrases, just as the Archon had wished, but it was tiresome to pretend to attempted negotiations for this long.

Still, he had as compensation seeing the sights of Arlathan once more. It was a truly beautiful city, and he was grateful to see it one more time before his death. Pinching the bridge of his nose, a smile came to his lips as he thought of some of the elves he had met in his youth, particularly the one who had taken the time to teach him a few phrases of the local language so he wouldn't feel so extremely out of place. What was his name? Lin- His archivist's mind came to the rescue. _Liniathalan. Pity_ he _could not have been our assigned liaison._

His eyes opened as the guard announced the arrival of Tallathian, and he stood from his chair as the woman appeared in the doorway. Even as his gaze landed on her, however, he could sense that there was something... _different_ about her even since just yesterday. He became acutely aware of her: her white hair, arranged in delicate curls and sweeping waves not too dissimilar from how a Tevene woman would arrange their own hair; her black tattoo, hugging the graceful curves of her face and highlighting her beauty while at the same time presenting her as somehow more mysterious; the curves of her body, accented and somehow accentuated by her the black silk of her form-fitting dress; and finally, the subtle scent that emanated from her, of sweat and excitement and rutting. As a whole, it was... _enchanting_.

He struggled to contain his inexplicable physical reaction even as he cleared his throat, intent on carrying out the traditional greeting. "The blessings of your Creators upon you. May your Creator-"

The woman stepped forward and claimed his face with her hands, black eyes meeting his. His heart skipped a beat as he rose to attention, a surge of hot blood rising like the tide within him as she stepped even closer and brought her lips to his. Around them, a song seemed to shimmer in the air, though its melody filled him with as much unease as pleasure. Surrendering to the compulsion that seemed to drive him (and ignoring that awareness within that screamed _something was wrong_ ), he didn't particularly mind when she began to indulge in playful bites, shivering as her fingernails scraped down his face to reach his chest. It wasn't until her hands reached into his clothing and began to scratch harder that he actually questioned the odd events of the last few minutes, and by then...

By then, it was far too late.

Nails turned to claws cut through his skin easily, followed by more pain as her teeth shifted to fangs and cut through the surface of his tongue and lips. Her chuckle as he screamed in pain dampened his ardor more than the agony, but it was too late - her saliva was in his blood. He fell to the floor and writhed as the fire burned through him, _changing_ him in ways that he couldn't begin to understand, unaware of the world around him as his entire body was reconstructed to match the desire of the one standing above him. His adjutants sprang forward to defend him, but a simple wave of the woman's hand stilled them, their minds simply _sent away_ for the moment.

He was dimly aware of a shadow falling over him, and he felt soft lips kiss his ear gently right before a hissing voice penetrated the haze of pain. "Child of mages but not one yourself, hear me. I have put into you my seed, the seed of Geldauran, to sprout the Darkness within the Magisters, to take root in their minds and grow, generation upon generation, until the song deep within compels them to make the final step to the Golden City. There, the song will invade the gold and replace its purity with my own, and the source of all energy of Thedas will answer to me, will be filled with my song." The words were filled with a venom that was literally agonizing, and he wanted to cover his ears, but was helpless before her. “The entire world stood by and did nothing while my children were annihilated. I will have my revenge and pour my Darkness upon the world. None in Thedas shall escape my wrath." A ghastly chuckle filled the air as his vision started to dim. “Not that you’ll remember any of this, of course. You will awaken, go home, live a normal life, and only remember me on your deathbed. And _that_ moment, I will _savor,_ my unwitting bearer of destruction.”

As his vision faded to black, Tevarus felt a single tear run down his cheek, the last bit of hope escaping with it.

.~^~.

On the other side of Arlathan, another victim of Geldauran yet struggled, unable to move as he felt the life drain from his body onto the now-saturated sheets beneath him. Desperately he tried to do _anything_ \- cover the wounds, use magic to stem the bleeding, or even just _blink_ \- to no avail. Time passed in an agonizing crawl as the world grew dimmer around him, and he knew that when it grew dark entirely he would be in the arms of the Guide. The journey that had started with obsession and ended in corruption was soon, very soon, to end.

He tried to shudder, to cry, to _scream_ \- and failed, each and every time. His body was no longer his own, and hadn't been since meeting the Dark God in his cavern underground, saturated by the song that reached out and tainted him, body and soul. _I'm sorry,_ he thought, though he knew not to whom he spoke. _I did not intend..._

The last bit of air eased into his lungs, never to be released. The ghostly shape of a deer appeared over the still form on the bed and leaned down, reaching into the body and pulling forth the barest wisp of that which nevertheless contained the entirety of the being that had been called Liniathalan. His last sensation was of a feather-light kiss on his forehead, the warmth of arms around him, and the soft whisper of Falon’din welcoming him to his eternal rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvhen terms:
> 
> The Guide: another name for Falon'din, the Creator who welcomed the dead to the afterlife


	15. Nothing Lasts Forever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “It is easier to forgive an enemy than to forgive a friend.”
> 
> \- William Blake

.~^~.

Two hands of days passed almost unnoticed in Arlathan, time in which Geldauran was able to spread the malice and darkness of his song without interruption. It was only when the sun approached the horizon on the eleventh day following Liniathalan's final breath that the door opened to an abode in the Rose District of Arlathan. A shadow recently returned from the Beyond slipped into the elegant yet small residence, prescience thrumming with apprehension at what he would find. Around the rooms the Wolf prowled, sensing an invasion he had thought impossible. His apprehension grew with the volume of his growl. _Darkness... spite... terror... what have you done, you who I once called brother?_ Carefully he traced the path of that foreboding scent: through the hole in the roof to the bathroom, from the bathroom - mixed with the scent of rutting and pure carnality, and nothing of the love and sensuality of which his Avatar was capable - to the bedroom, where he abruptly pulled up short.

The room reeked of old blood and decay, causing his hackles to rise instantly and the growl to reach truly dreadful proportions. He stalked around the bed, examining the lifeless and almost unrecognizable form upon it, his disquiet only growing as he discerned the remnants of Liniathalan. Emotions ran through him in rapid order: pity at the man's fate, disgust at the gruesome nature of it, and anger as he began to realize how it had come about. The rage began as a small burning point of internal flame that grew to rival the sun as he tried to reach out to his Avatar and found only a void where once their connection had been. Without conscious thought, he subsumed himself into his own shadow, becoming naught but a moving blackness on the ground - a power he had not used since the War had ended - and followed the scent of his enemy, mind blazing with vengeance.

As he moved through Arlathan, he felt the change caused by Geldauran's miasma: it lingered in the frowns on people's faces, the uncertainty in their demeanor, and the faint but pervasive melody that wound through the streets of Arlathan, following the corrupted scent of his Avatar. As he passed under the feet of those who walked the byways of Arlathan, ignorant of his presence, the rumors flew to his sharp ears: how the Council had fallen ill after one of their morning meetings; how waves of weeping Elvhen had sought their _halla_ counselors after disturbing waking dreams that could not be shaken; how, after mere days of negotiation, the Tevene delegation had precipitously departed; and how large winged forms with the flash of scales had been seen flying far over the city, their shadows leaving a chill in their wake. _The chill of those dead yet not._

As he followed the tang of corruption to its current location, he could not help but wonder... _Is she a victim, or an accomplice?_ He cursed the fact that he had been so focused on finding the whereabouts of the Forgotten Ones following Geldauran's blatant attack on the Hall that he had made the assumption - perhaps erroneously - that she could fend for herself. The fear took hold, faint but unmistakable. _Could any of the Elvhen, even among the First, truly withstand the Darkness? Could he have learned so much of the People that he could work past any defense?_ He picked up his speed as the trail grew more rancid, indicating proximity. _Could I have underestimated his need for revenge so catastrophically?_ He noticed peripherally that he had moved past the inhabited areas of Arlathan and was moving through the border zones where the Guardians stood in their endless vigil against encroaching enemies.

He found her there, amidst the marble statues that housed what remained of the First.

The night had claimed Arlathan in full, allowing a magnificent view of the stars above. For a fleeting moment, the Wolf wished he was back in the Beyond as he watched Tallathian, her white hair unleashed to float around her nude form, stare up at the tall statue that held all that remained of her brother, the Avatar of Elgar'nan - and the first to sacrifice himself to be a Guardian of Arlathan while she had roamed the face of Thedas in her sorrow.

As he scrutinized her body, he felt the almost forgotten sensation of tears as he recognized the thoroughness of her corruption: the lavender tattoos, which normally covered the whole of her body and had been designed in part to highlight her lack of a navel as a mark of her station, had been warped, altered to a mottled black that bespoke horror and darkness rather than cunning and light. He knew that were he to see her eyes, their delicate lavender depth would have become a void of blackness, the white hair kept for spite or whim - or both. _Tallathian..._ Shoving the fear and despair away, since he could _not_ afford the weakness, he instead concentrated on his inchoate fury as he felt the presence of the one who had caused these things to happen. Pulling himself from the ground, he assumed his full aspect of the Dreadful Wolf, huge and black and hulking above her slender form.

The woman turned and looked up at him with eyes of stygian emptiness. "So, Fen' _Vhenan_ , you finally show your pathetic muzzle. Did you hear my lovely little song? _Feel_ its defilement of your precious little Elvhen? Trace its putrescence back to the one who even now carries it on my behalf back to Minrathous and their ilk?" She laughed, the mirth all the more painful given from whose mouth it issued. "I presume you found my ever-so-helpful assistant, that pathetic little mage? Oh, was he dead when you arrived, safe in Falon'din's arms? Pity. He was quite the _skilled_ lover." The smirk belied the the false regret, and those elegant fingers reached to cup her breasts and roll her nipples between them, the motion obscenely lascivious compared to anything Tallathian could have conjured, and the Wolf could not suppress the growl that came to his maw. "Oh, does little Wolfie not like other hands to roam where only his have ventured for aeons untold?" The hands moved lower, caressing the black lines of the debased tattoos on the way down, and a little gasp came from her lips as she fondled the cleft between her legs.

"You fool no one, Geldauran," he snarled, causing the nearby trees to shudder. "I sent you to the abyss once for betrayal. I can do so again." He took a threatening step forward, saliva dripping from his bared teeth.

"Without killing the one I currently occupy?" the black-eyed elf asked, touching a pert nipple with moistened fingers. "I think not." She took a step away from the statue, exaggerating the sway of her hips as she moved closer to the Wolf, running her hands through the glory of her long, white hair. "And so we have an impasse. You swore to protect her, to love her through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered, to hold her at the end of time." She laughed. "You, who condemned the Creators and the Ancient Ones to aeons of repentance and slumber for a sin _you_ declared reprehensible. You, who broke the very laws of existence when you entered into a relationship with her, now think that you can again rewrite Creation?" A wave of darkness enclosed Fen'Vhenan, blocking his vision. "Strike, if you dare!"

His muzzle lowered slightly, his mind gathering all his moments alone with Tallathian, savoring each and every kiss, gasp, and cry of ecstasy... Then he leaped forward, trusting to his smell to say where to strike, teeth wrapping around her torso as he dragged her to the ground. It was only when he heard a whimper of pain that he opened his eyes and stared at his victim... and into lavender eyes filled with agony.

"Betrayal is a poison, Fen'Harel, one that never loses its sting." There was a sensation of movement to the side, and he turned to it with a growl, curled protectively around the woman now cradled in his forepaws. "And one that never truly washes away. Enjoy what is left of your time here."

And with that cryptic comment, the Darkness vanished, leaving the Wolf alone with his mortally wounded love.

Putting Geldauran from his awareness with the savage vow of _later_ , he assumed his Elvhen form and gathered the shuddering woman to him, grasping and holding her spirit close, away from Falon'din's grasp. He poured his energy into her, his desperation to sustain her fueling his power as it washed over her in a wave of warmth and healing. Her head snapped back as she screamed against the sensation, for one did not get pulled from the Beyond without a fight, even if the one doing the pulling was a God. When he felt her own energy join with his, however, he pulled even harder against the grip of death, sensing that victory was near.

All at once her scream halted, and she collapsed, panting, against his chest, fingers twitching spasmodically and without thought as they sought his long, mane-like hair. He stiffened with concern as her consciousness fled, but relaxed when he felt the steady pulse of life within her. The frown returned just as quickly as he examined that pulse of life, and found the unexpected. Incredulous, he moved the hand not supporting her over her torso, wiping away the blood so that he could rest it flush against her abdomen.

He had not been mistaken: two additional points of life pulsed within.

Holding her close, he shut his eyes and let the tears finally flow, pain and relief mixed together. _"Vir samahl la numin, vir lath sa'vunin, emma sa'lath,"_ he whispered to her, using the words of the oath they had spoken to each other so very long ago.  _We laugh and cry, we love one more day, my one true love._  Slowly he stood, nestling her protectively in his arms. " _Melana'nehn enasal ir sa lethalin." And time will again be the joy it once was._  Stumbling slightly as he blinked away the tears, the Wolf moved away from Arlathan, a single thought hovering in the forefront of his thoughts: _safe. Must keep her safe._ It was the packleader's duty to protect the members of his pack against all danger. and he was, after all, the Wolf.

Distracted as he was by the tumultuous events of the evening, Fen'Vhenan failed to notice one simple fact: the eyes of the Guardians, first and greatest defense of Elvhenan, had been extinguished. The souls of the First of the Elvhen, placed within the marble statues when Arlathan had been Founded so they could provide eternal protection against invaders, were gone, freed by the misguided hand of the last of the First yet among the living.

Arlathan lay exposed, unprotected - and none knew save the very enemy sworn to Arlathan's ultimate destruction.


	16. Faint Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “The past could always be annihilated. Regret, denial, or forgetfulness could do that. But the future was inevitable.”
> 
> \- Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

.~^~.

Fen'Vhenan gazed down at the sleeping faces of the babes lying in the crib of living wood, a frown creasing his face as he reached down and lightly caressed the crowns of their heads. The girl, lavender eyes shining even in the dim light of the den, looked at him calmly, then shifted so that she lay on her side facing her twin, settling down for a longer nap. Her brother, golden eyes a gift from his father, appeared to be debating the wisdom of his sister's choice, but the yawn that overtook him decided the matter. He snuggled closer to her and closed his eyes, joining her in the Beyond, where two small wolf cubs dashed across the courtyard of the Golden City, indulgently smiled upon by a not-so-distant Focus on his throne.

Back in Thedas, the frown remained on the Wolf's face as he considered them. _It has been over a year since they were born, and still she has done nothing more than name them and feed them._ His hand moved to the pale hair of Andara, wondering if Tallathian would have been like this as a child, had she been born of a mother rather than drawn from the ether of the Beyond through the soil of Thedas. _They are... life, irreplaceable and precious. Why does she treat them as nothing more than... barely tolerable?_ He looked to where their mother sat, as she always did, at the small desk he had brought to her. Her quill moved slowly over the page of the journal he had also brought at her request, though occasionally she paused to dip its end into the ink. Her hair hung in lank white hanks around her face and torso, as if she were seeking to hide from the world... including him.

Suppressing a growl - he had tried anger to snap her from her depression, and the results had been disastrous - he turned to face her. "They sleep," he said quietly, again refraining from shifting to his preferred form so that he could howl his anger and anguish. "But when they wake, they will desire nourishment." He moved to stand behind her, and hesitantly laid a hand on her shoulder.

She flinched violently away from him, almost falling out of the chair as she did so.

Clenching his hand closed, he pulled it back and abruptly pivoted. "We are running low on food for you and the children. Arahel in particular enjoys the juice of fresh fruit." Trying to bury the pain of her rejection and his growing anger over her unwillingness to confront it, he continued, "I am going to Edarlahn for supplies. I will return shortly." He wanted to say more, _needed_ to say more, but all the words he could think of had been said... and yet her despair continued. He turned to the den's mouth and stalked to it, preparing to change into his more comfortable form, when her voice suddenly cut through the den.

"Did you exile the Creators to the Beyond?"

The tone, the abruptness of the question, but most of all, the _words_... Slowly he turned to face her, expression carefully crafted into a puzzled expression. In all their long years together, this had been the one thing he had never revealed to her. For all that she was of the First, for all that she was his love and lover... she was still of the Elvhen, and beholden to their views. It was true, he _had_ taken advantage of the time after the War when she would disappear for spans at a time to try and reconcile the guilt she _still_ felt about the genocide of the Minauri at the hands of her People. While she wandered the peaks and crevasses of Thedas, he walked among the Creators and the Ancient Ones, coaxing and deceiving, threatening and cajoling, and led them away from Thedas, never to return. The Creators even now languished in the Beyond, forced to consider their sin, and the Ancient Ones - he had _thought_ \- were mired deep in the abyss below the surface where even dwarves feared to dig. _Geldauran..._

He pushed the thought aside - that was also something he would attend to _later._ _Perhaps you saw my actions as a betrayal, one who I once called Brother,_ he thought darkly, _but your actions - and those of your brethren - nearly destroyed the world. I did what needed to be done._ Yet, even though he was certain of the _rightness_ of his actions, he wanted _her_ to remain ignorant of them.

As a result of his decision to administer the punishment away from the People's scrutiny, however, the Elvhen knew for fact only that their Creators disappeared shortly after the Founding of Arlathan. The First of the Elvhen had been quick enough to denounce Fen'Vhenan, of course. After all, though he was akin to the Creators, he was not part of their Pantheon, and thus it was argued he was jealous of their power, of their great victory in the War, and sought to expand his own by pushing them aside. Though untrue, the declamations had proven impossible to disprove, and his followers had been slaughtered, the first slaying of the People by the People in the streets of Arlathan. Though cooler heads had finally prevailed and stamped a rule of law into Elvhenan to prevent such atrocities again, the message was clear: the Wolf was no longer accepted among the Elvhen. Tallathian, absent on her quest for self-forgiveness, had missed it all and returned to an Arlathan that had forgotten her almost completely, including the identity of her Master _._

His _cult_ continued, of course, for there would always be those who enjoyed the thrill of knowing they took part in something secret, those who sought the adrenaline of danger involved in doing the forbidden, and those who did not feel as if they _belonged_. Not even the Elvhen were monolithic, for all that they presented themselves that way to the rest of Thedas. The Cult of the Dreadful Wolf met under the full moon in remote Gardens, presenting sacrifices to him as they saw fit, feeding him knowledge and energy in their own fitful way... but it was Tallathian who had been his anchor, his true reason to _care_ when he had been so roundly rejected by the rest of the Elvhen based on nothing more than rumor. And she had never doubted him.

_Never._

An immediate answer failed him as he saw her expression: haggard and worn, with no spark of life or desire. It suddenly hit him, deep in his gut: _she wasn't living._ He knew she ate, and slept, and breathed - but all other aspects of life had... drained from her. He moved towards her, wanting to do  _something,_ but a spark suddenly flew from her fingers to stop him where he stood. Her brows drew together with anger, but she didn't speak - only held her quaking hand before her.

A cry came from the crib, joined quickly by another. Moving quickly to them, he cursed softly when he saw a scorch mark on Arahel's simple outfit. "You could have hurt them!" he said sharply, movements brisk as he carefully picked them up, cradling them in his arms with practiced motions. After a few minutes of soothing rubs and wordless humming, the babes were calm again, eyes closing as they fought the tiredness their panic had instilled in them. Only then did Fen'Vhenan lash Tallathian with an accusatory gaze. "Do you have no concern for them?" he hissed softly.

She had curled in on herself, arms wrapped tightly around her torso. Her face remained hidden by her hair, but even in this dim light her lavender eyes pierced the gloom to bore into him. "Did you exile the Creators to the Beyond?" she repeated in a peculiarly hollow voice. Her fingers were clenched tightly around her arms, and the very slight smell of copper confirmed that her nails were biting into her flesh.

"Do you care _nothing_ for them?" he demanded, suddenly unable to contain his ire. "These are your _children!_ You should be concerned with _them, here, now_ rather than wondering about events from aeons ago!" He stalked to her, halting only when her hand again came up in that defensive posture. The children awoke, startled, and began fussing, reacting to the tension in the air. "They need their _Mamae_ more than you need-"

 _"Did you exile the Creators to the Beyond, Fen'Vhenan?"_ she screamed, one hand lashing out to slam on the little desk, causing a splintering sound. The sound and action were too much, and Andara began to wail, clutching herself closer to Fen'Vhenan to get away from the anger in the woman who had never acted like her mother. Reaching over to try to comfort his sister, Arahel still clutched tightly at the Wolf's shirt, wordlessly begging him to  _make it right_ with a trembling chin. "Or are you too afraid to _answer_ me?" Those lavender eyes were filled with venom, anger, and, buried deep, fear, though he wasn't sure what she feared at this precise moment.

His arms instinctively tightened around the twins as they both cuddled closer to him. He took some time to once more soothe them, though they were less inclined this time to succumb to sleep. Rather, once they were silent, they remained alert and silent, still drawn closer to the God than to their own  _Mamae_. Taking a deep breath, he looked at Tallathian, reluctant to speak. "I am more afraid that your anger will hurt these little ones than of the answer to the question you present." As her face tightened once more in anger, he turned from her and moved to the entrance of the den, children still in his arms. " _We_ will return later. They need to begin learning of the world outside this den, and you... obviously need time to recover your control."

A small, choked sound came from behind him. "If that is your decision."

The quaver in her voice caused him to reluctantly turn to her, and his heart went out to her once more. She had at last risen to her feet, the motion moving her hair away from her face enough that he could see her more clearly. Tears covered her cheeks, as if she had been quietly crying for some time, and he wanted - _needed_ \- to go back to her, to hold her and comfort her... save that he now feared for the children. "It is," he responded quietly. "We need _you_ , Tallathian, not this... shell you have retreated into." He took a hesitant step forward, but she turned away. He halted with a sigh. _"Please,"_ he beseeched earnestly. "Come _back_ , _emma sa'lath_."

She didn't respond, but a hesitant nod could be seen in the dim light.

Relief flooded through him. "We _do_ need supplies." His voice was gentle now that this breakthrough, however small, had occurred. "I will take the twins with me, since they _do_ need to be introduced to Elvhenan, and when we return..." He left that hanging, since he didn't want to push her. "Is that... acceptable?"

Another moment of silence, followed by another shallow nod. Yet it was still more than he had managed to coax from her in _months_. Heartened to get even that much, he smiled in relief. "Until next we meet," he said, an echo of how they had always said farewell... for now. He turned, not really expecting a response, and headed to the mouth of the den.

He didn't see her sway back to him, cheeks completely covered in tears, and reach out to them, mouth agape even though no noise louder than a gasp emerged - too soft for even his sharp ears to hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An explanation of Elven time as kept in Arlathan:  
> span - 100 years  
> aeon - 1000 years
> 
> .~^~.
> 
> Elvhen terms:
> 
> Emma sa'lath - My one true love  
> Fen'Vhenan - Wolf-Heart  
> Fen'Harel - Dreadful Wolf  
> Mamae - Mother


	17. Decision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “The wounds that never heal can only be mourned alone.”
> 
> \- James Frey, A Million Little Pieces

.~^~.

Once he was gone, the shadow on the wall of the den behind Tallathian pulsed, and a whispery voice echoed in the little cave. _"You see? I told you he wouldn't answer. He's afraid to tell you the truth."_

The tears didn't stop - _couldn't_ stop - as she put her hands to her mouth to choke back the sobs. She felt only the same black despair that had settled over her when she realized that she carried the children of a dead man, one murdered by her own hand even if the impetus for the murder had not been her own. The blackness had become all-consuming, and she couldn't seem to fight it off, no matter how supportive and loving Fen'Vhenan had been. And then... the children had come, and she knew that the Wolf had hoped it would rouse her from her self-imposed stupor. Yet every time she had looked into Arahel's golden eyes, precisely the same shade as those of Liniathalan...

Biting back another cry of pain, she turned to the shadow, grateful for something to vent her anguish upon. "I said _begone!"_ she snarled, and threw far more than a mere spark of lightning at the Darkness and his unwelcome presence. The desk crumpled under the force of her ire, the quill disappearing in a flash of fire as the inkpot shattered, covering her in spatters of black liquid. Somehow, though, the book survived intact - as if some unseen hand did not want her grim thoughts of the last two years to vanish along with the tools that had written them.

The magic had no effect on the one who currently hovered on the cusp of the reality and no closer. _"Deny it all you wish. It will not change the fact that he betrayed you, betrayed your People, and left you and yours bereft of Divine protection."_ A hollow chuckle echoed in the den, prompting Tallathian to desperately cover her ears, holding her hands in that position even after the hideous sound faded. _"I will not claim to love you, but I have not yet lied to you, nor stolen the affection of your children. Remember that, when the time comes to decide with whom you will ally yourself."_ And with that, the shadow faded away, content to let the words broil in the mired mass of misery that had enclosed her very being.

She sank to the ground, shivering with cold, uncertainty and agony. An ancient memory suddenly came to her: stumbling through the homes of the Minauri and the many creches for their eggs, shells smashed without remorse by the swords and feet of the Elvhen. The tiny broken bodies, devoid of life and denied even the experience of a first breath, had haunted her for aeons, besieging her nightmares and robbing her of peace. It was the reason why she had left Arlathan shortly after the First Tree and the First Stone had been laid, why she had sought absolution for the sins committed by her People at the behest of the Creators she had trusted. She had not found the answer to those crimes before, and she could find no solace to answer the guilt she felt for her own trespasses now.

 _"Why,_ Fen'Harel?" The words echoed back to her off of the walls of the small cave, and the tears began anew as she realized that he would never be _Fen'Vhenan_ to her again. The exile of the Creators would have been painful enough on its own, yet if he had done it because of the decision that had led to the massacre of children, she could have understood it. _If_ he had told her. _If_ he hadn't made it clear that he didn't trust her, and, apparently, hadn't for aeons. _I_ trusted  _you, Fen'Harel, more even than I trusted the Creators. Do I mean so little to you?_

The answer whispered back to her, borne on a cloud of anger, despair and grief from the bottom reaches of her very soul:  _Yes._

She let loose one final howl of frustrated agony, but in her state, she could not hold back the tide of fury that inexorably swept over her, nor the wave of vengeful magic that destroyed what little remained in the cave. The crib flew apart, dispersed in bits to all the corners of the cave, and the soft grasses and blankets that she had slept on - though never _with_ Fen'Harel - transformed into little darts of destruction that flew around the inside of the den with little regard for control or her own safety. In the end, she stood in the center of a circle of destruction, bleeding from several cuts and covered in burns. Holding out her hand, she called her journal to her - she had no wish for _him_ to know her thoughts if he wouldn't reveal his own to her - and opened it to the last page, the only one still blank. Delicately she dipped a fingernail into some blood dripping from a cut on her arm and carefully traced the outlines of some words onto the page, then tore it from its companions and let it drift to the floor.

 _I will meet you in Arlathan. Please understand, I need time. I am sorry.  
_ _\--T_

Decision made, she shifted to a form more appropriate for her journey, took the journal between her fangs, and loped from the cave, setting her sights on Arlathan. Though it lay hundreds of miles away, she knew she would be able to find it without fail. Besides, the journey would give her time to think, to be alone... and to ponder the consequences of her choice to leave them.

Behind her, a shadow warped over the piece of paper left on the ground, obscuring it for a few moments before retreating. The words shone now in a different configuration, and had he a body to express such a sentiment, Geldauran would have grinned with delight.

 _Do not return to Arlathan. You will never understand. I have never needed you.  
_ _\--T_

The shadow dissipated, leaving only the faintest echo of a keening song of corruption behind him, too faint for any to hear except, perhaps, for the keen ears of a Wolf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvhen terms:
> 
> Creators - Gods of the Elvhen


	18. Consequence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I searched the face of my God, and found only Darkness."
> 
> \- Tevarus, First Scholar to Archon Darinius (from a hastily scrawled note in his dead hand)

.~^~.

A wolf of pure white drew to a halt on the cliff overlooking the vast expanse of the forest which concealed Arlathan from casual scrutiny. The wind ruffled the mane of fur, teasing it into loose strands and playing with the knots of neglect it found there as lupine eyes of lavender regarded the greenery and riotous color down below. So long had it been since her eyes had beheld this place she had considered home that it took a while to pick out the details. Slowly they returned: the Hall, looming large as the tallest building in the city; the First Tree, the only part of Arlathan which did not dwindle in the shadow of the Hall's bulk; and, throughout the sprawling city, the flowers of the Gardens. All these things were familiar, yet different. Or was it only herself that was so very different? She knew not the answer, nor particularly cared - that was not the thought she wished to pursue at the moment: not with her city before her, not with her mind still in its chaotic state.

Yet she had returned for one purpose: to go home.

After leaving the cave she had temporarily shared with Fen'Harel in a desperate attempt to escape the darkness both within and without, her path had wandered. The knowledge that Fen'Harel had indeed been responsible for the loss of the Creators and the realization that he had not trusted her to know the truth of the matter burned within, an agony of hurt and anger that kept her moving, ever moving, throughout the vast wilderness of Thedas. The darkness of her depression ate at her, an itch of pain she couldn't scratch, and her soul accepted no peace.

And so she had resumed her travels from so long ago. She took solace in the world around her: in the abundance of life in the remote locales of Thedas, in the passage of time as it moved over her without effect, and in the mountains and the deserts and the oceans. She sought out and spoke with the gods that had been long forgotten in the depths of the sea, in the winds that scoured the mountains, in the hideaways that dotted the endless reaches of the dusty plains that stretched far to the west of Arlathan, where the Elvhen had not yet ventured. She wasn't sure that she sought anything specifically save for, perhaps, surcease from the constant battle within as she fought the hooked barbs of the darkness that had enshrouded her.

When she stopped noticing the death of the prey and started noticing the joy of the hunter, she knew that the time had come to return home. She knew now how many years had passed as she found and regained herself, but she hoped that Fen'Harel had taken her last missive to heart and awaited her with the twins in Arlathan.

She could _hope_ , anyway.

These thoughts and more ran through her mind like wildfire as she began the final descent down into the valley, her transition from four feet to two indiscernible unless one were specifically looking for it. Uncertain what the reception for her would be amongst her people and certain that she wasn't quite ready to introduce herself to her children, she took an unusual additional precaution and spelled her appearance with a glamour, as she knew Fen'Harel was wont to do. Rather than a silver-haired beauty with lavender eyes, a strong-featured woman with brown hair and the predominant green eyes of her People began to walk along the streets.

Her feet took her to the Garden wherein rested her own Second Tree and the white-hoofed one she considered a true friend. As she entered the Garden of Serenity, she discovered the unexpected: neglect and emptiness. No flasks of bilberry wine awaited her. Flowers grew where they willed, but so did weeds and vermin. The air, which should have sounded with the sweet chirping of birds, was filled only with the rustling of branches allowed to grow beyond what was healthy. Worst of all, as her eyes penetrated the underbrush around her, she could not catch a single flash of white, nor the sound of a hoof, as if the _halla_ had simply ceased to exist.

As she penetrated the thick, rampant undergrowth between the trees, she fought to hold her panic down. _Surely_ there was an explanation. The Gardens were an integral aspect of Arlathan: they would only be left to ruin for a reason, not for mere whim or spite. When the People were in need of rest, to have the burden lifted from their shoulders, all in Arlathan knew to speak with the _halla_ so that the gentle creatures could discuss their worst sins without judgment - that was thepurpose of the Gardens, why they were so unchanging and perfect.  She gulped and took a deep breath to steady herself as she drew nearer to her tree, then pushed herself through the final barrier.

The tree was gone - hacked to pieces, it appeared, and surrounded by an invisible yet tangible wall simmering with fear and hate. Only the stump remained of the once great tree grown from a seed given by the First Tree. Stumbling blindly forward, she dismissed the odd barrier with but a thought and put trembling hands on the stump, blinking rapidly as she felt the tears begin to form. _Why? How?_ She knew not the answer, and was starting to believe that she didn't even know the right questions.

A sound behind her made her start, and she pivoted to face its source, instinctively meeting the eyes of the being who stood behind her. The _halla_ stood timorously, not tall and proud, and seemed almost poised to flee. She gasped as she recognized the mark on its face: a wavy line over a flat line. _Wind Over Still Waters_. Raising a hand, she tried to reach out to her friend's mind as she had so many times before... and met nothing. Or rather, met the mute susurration of the mind of a dumb animal, driven by instinct and reaction and little more.

Gone was the wise and gentle mind that had been her constant spiritual companion in the last few spans. Gone was the patient and forbearing mother of a promising young Spirit Healer who had already shown as much promise as his dam. Gone was any remnant of what could be termed sentience or a soul. There was nothing but a dull emptiness that watched her carefully, wary of danger. Age was laced over her in a fine tracery of empty and sagging skin, indicating a lack of proper care at the hands of those who should have been caring for them. _The bonds between our people have been broken,_ she realized, a shock akin to a bucket of cold water rippling over her.  _She has no knowledge, not of me, not of the Elvhen..._

Hesitantly she tried again. _*Wind?*_ she whispered into the other's mind. _*What has happened?*_

The _halla_ hesitated. And for an instant - a minuscule moment of hope - she felt _something_ respond, a flutter against a still backdrop. But then the _halla_ started at a noise that Tallathian didn't even hear and bolted, leaving her to ponder the single image that Tallathian had been able to pull from the now-animal's mind: one of the Elvhen, shrouded in darkness, standing before the Tree and singing a melody that was all too insidiously familiar.

She turned back to the stump and received a further surprise. Arranged behind the shattered wood was an array of the heretofore disappeared _halla_ , gathered in a semi-circle. Just as with _Wind Over Still Waters,_ their eyes were empty of intelligence, and they stood poised precariously, obviously ready to flee. Her eyes moved over their markings, recognizing each and every one. All of them were noticeably older, as _Wind Over Still Waters_ had been, and their eyes were just as empty. As one they lowered their head, an odd sort of obeisance - which _hurt,_ for the _halla_ were more friends than beasts of burden - and then, as one, they turned and leapt away, quickly disappearing into the undergrowth, somehow managing to disappear within a matter of seconds.

The image she had seen in _Wind's_ mind lingered, however, impossible to forget. An Elvhen, killing the tree and corrupting all those who could hear. She remembered killing Liniathalan and corrupting the ambassador from the Imperium while she had been under Geldauran's possession, but what else had she done? What else had he ruined?

A few minutes later, she left the Garden, her mission set: discover the extent of the damage, and how long it had been allowed to ferment and corrupt within Arlathan. Time was precious, especially if her fears proved to be true.


	19. The Final Blow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Nothing has more strength than dire necessity.”
> 
> \- Euripides

.~^~.

Tallathian stumbled to a halt, shocked at what lay before her. Where once her lovely little house of ivy, rose, and willow had stood, only scorched ground remained. Everything was gone, and worse than gone: she sensed that the ground had been salted, the magic drained. Tears filled her eyes for a moment as she realized that her name, her history, everything she had been to her people was now dead. Worse than dead: _anathema._ She could count the number of times a citizen of Arlathan had been declared such on one hand, and never a Councilor, and certainly never a First Born, though there had been few enough that would have remembered that aspect of her past.

Quickly blinking the tears away, she made a desultory check of her surroundings to verify that she was, indeed, alone, and then advanced into the ruins, pushing through the sense of _wrongness_  that lingered about the ashes of ruin to her goal, which lay in the very back of the house.

Miraculously, and fortunately for Arlathan, the Eluvian was intact. She breathed a sigh of relief as she sensed that the glamour that hid it from discovery was still intact, despite the destruction around her. The wolves that had once decorated the frame were long gone, burned away by whatever conflagration had descended upon her abode, but the silvery surface remained untouched and undamaged. She breathed a sigh of relief. Had it been broken... the denizens of the Beyond, demons and spirits both, would have been able to flow through into Thedas, true, but beyond that, it would have increased the tang of corruption she'd sensed since her return to Arlathan, an added burden that Arlathan did not need at this point in time.

She let out a sigh of profound relief, feeling as if a disaster - though smaller in comparison to the rest of the problems that awaited her - had been avoided. Once she determined the extent of the damage done to Arlathan while she had been under Geldauran's clutches, she would return to the Beyond. Perhaps she could find Fen'Harel there, to apologize... They could not be what they were before, perhaps, but they could be more than they had been when last they met.

Turning with that faint hope trembling in her heart, she emerged from the blackened, burned remnants of the trees of her home and froze. _Someone was waiting_.

After a few moments, she realized that the person, hooded and cloaked as they were, did no acknowledge her presence or even look in her direction. A sense of expectation was evident in the way they would occasionally turn and look up the path that led to her home, but other than that, there seemed to be no reason for them to be here. She remained still, hoping the shadows and their lack of interest would allow her to remain unnoticed, but nevertheless her breath hitched as another person came, similarly shrouded, to stand next to the first one.

"You are certain no one will see us here?" she heard the newcomer say, his voice hissing in the thin air with its lack of vegetation to warm it. The first figure was quite a bit taller than the second, by a full head if not more, and Tallathian frowned. _Shemlen?_ Here? She hadn't noticed the height when the person had been alone, but now it was obvious it couldn't be one of the People.

"Quite certain," the other replied, and also a man by his voice. "I've noticed that nobody visits the home of the Deceiver, not in all the time I've been here. You Arlathans seem to prefer to pretend that she never existed." A snort escaped the hood of the taller speaker. "Now, what have you to report? My superiors asked for a report weeks ago, and I've been wanting for a response ever since."

"It's not easy, you know," the shorter man grumbled. "I'm not privy to the actual meetings of the High Council, after all."

"You'll need to do better than that if you want to see your family unharmed again." The voice was soft, yet full of menace, and the shorter man stood to attention immediately.

"Yes, my lord. I'm sorry, my lord." The man seemed to look directly at Tallathian, who held her breath as his gaze swept over her, but eventually he looked away. "I have managed to arrange matters so that I could overhear the private conversations of the High Council. Not their actual meetings in the Hall, but their smaller, more private-"

The other man waved his hand impatiently. "The details, elf. I could care less for an explanation about how you obtained them."

Tallathian's eyes narrowed. _Elf?_  That clinched it: the tall one _was_ human, mostly likely in the city without sanction. No mage, as far as she could tell, though that was small comfort. _Tevene, perhaps?_ Her eyes struggled to find the face beneath the hood, losing track of the words until she heard the phrase _Fen'Harel's cult_ and snapped her attention back to the conversation.

"...caught the supposed leaders of the cult just a hand or so ago. Twins, if you can believe it, a brother and a sister a mere two spans old - children, by our standards, really." Their unknown listener paled and stilled. "The Council reprimanded them and marked them, but they didn't have quite enough evidence to execute them. At least with the wolf brand on their foreheads, they'll be easy to spot. 'Tis rumored Fen'Harel himself brought them here as infants. Those should be the first ones your agents seek to kill before the main invasion gets underway. They keep a low profile, but the High Councilors are convinced that they are capable of summoning their Master if they are truly pressed - another reason why they weren't executed - and as much as we despise his very name, Fen'Harel _is_ a god, though outside our Pantheon."

"If I wanted your advice on the matter of divinity, elf, I would have asked for it." The human waved his hand in dismissal. "I have your report. Return and gather more information, including the current status of the so-called Guardians. We have been told they are inert, but some verification would be... appreciated by those who hold your wife's fate in their hands." Reaching into his cloak, he withdrew a long, blond cord with a ribbon tied on each end and threw it at the elf, who scrambled for it desperately, diving to his knees to make sure it didn't hit the ground.

As her fellow citizen let loose a choked sob and held it to his chest, she suddenly realized that it was the hair of a woman, and anger flickered deep within. "Th-there's blood on it."

The human chuckled as he turned away from the grieving elf. "She is quite the beauty. There are several uses we could put her to besides occasionally draining her blood. Hopefully you'll provide your information in a more timely manner next time, or it won't be just her hair that we modify next time."

The cruel laughter he left in the wake of his departure left the poor man standing in front her ruined house slumped in defeat and shaking in anger. While she was still pondering if she should approach him, he also stood and left, braid still clutched to his chest as if it were the most precious thing in the world.

Troubled, Tallathian emerged from behind her nominal hiding place and pondered her next destination. _Invasion..._ She had been intending to go speak with the First Tree after checking the status of her Eluvian, but the mention of the Guardians worried her, and not only because they had for aeons stood as the best defense of Arlathan. A vague memory of standing in front of her brother's stone form came to her, the last memory before Fen'Harel's teeth had sunk into her flesh all those years ago. _No... No, I can't possibly lose them. Not again..._

Almost in a panic, she burst from her hiding place and ran back to the outskirts of Arlathan, suddenly desperate to see the light in the eyes of the Guardians. Ignoring the curious and suspicious glances of those she passed in her frantic flight, she ran without a thought in her mind other than to find the statues, to reassure herself that their eyes still shone a rainbow of protection and awareness from their places around the city. _Please... tell me I didn't murder my own family..._

She burst from the last of the hedges after several agonizing minutes of sprinting, coming to a halt before the first of the familiar statues. Holding her hand to her side to contain the pain of her stitch, she panted as she looked up into the eyes of her brother, remembering the first time she had seen the Guardians upon her return to Arlathan forllowing her first extended pilgrimage of penance...

.~^~.

*There was no other choice, sister.*

 _The words echoed in her head, one more reminder that he was..._ changed. _When she had left Arlathan, she had left behind a number of brothers and sisters, all known as the First Born, the members of the proud club of Elvhen who bore the mark of original Creation as evidenced by their lack of navels. Peering up at the tall, stoic statue of the one who had once walked the plains of Thedas at her side, she blinked away her tears. "The First Born were to remain in the Council, to guide Arlathan through the aeons. How can you lead the Elvhen in a form that prevents you from moving among them?"_

*The Creators can no longer protect us. The _durgen'len_ tunnel their way to supremacy below the surface of Thedas, and these odd round-ears keep landing on the shores at the edges of Elvhenan. They are few now, and friendly, but what if more arrive and in greater numbers? No,* _he said, and this time the obstinacy that had made his affiliation with Elgar'nan so obvious was clear in his tone._ *We must act first to defend our sovereignty, or suffer the fate of the Minauri ourselves. Had you been in Arlathan when we accepted the transformation, you would have been offered a place as well, since you are among the First Born. You could still—*

_"No." She stopped his thought with a shake of her head. "I will do what you should have done. I will walk among the Elvhen and guide them as best as I can. There are some other First Born that have not become stone, are there not? Others that wandered as I did?"_

*Not many, and none for as long as you, sister.* _The tone held a hint of reproach, but it was only a few years ago that the memory of the tiny, lifeless bodies in the broken shells had ceased to give her screaming nightmares. Of this, however, she told him nothing._

_"At least I will be able to visit," she murmured. "Still, I will miss you, brother."_

*And I you, sister.* _The whisper of his voice died away, and there was only the towering statue with the brilliant golden eyes, like two miniature suns, boring into the forest that surrounded Arlathan, keenly watching for danger against his lands._

.~^~.

The memory faded, and the tiny suns of the past dwindled into blank, dull eyes that stared out into the forest of Arlathan, seeing nothing. Tears began to roll down her cheeks as her mind probed the stone before her, desperately searching for anything that would indicate a presence of a soul.

 _Nothing._ Not a glimmer of light or life responded to her desperate plea. The stone was merely that: a stern-looking statue with no more purpose than to tower over the supplicants who approached Arlathan. Even the simple spell that the Council was supposed to maintain to prevent weathering of the granite was gone, allowing time to gain its revenge on the rock through masses of cracks and chips.

For the first time since returning to her home, she fell to her knees, then collapsed entirely, curling into a ball as the all-too-familiar weeping seized her once more. The last remnant of hope had been taken from her: no house, no _halla_ , no children, no God, no lover, no family, no place, no people... She was alone, truly alone, and the absolute truth of that simple statement tore through her far more effectively than even the fangs of he who had once been the center of her life.

_And she knew precisely at whose feet she should lay the blame._

She felt rather than saw the Darkness coalesce around her, free to do so before the empty eyes of the Guardians. The sensation of a hand fell on her shoulder as she felt his oppressive presence attempt to overwhelm her once more. *You are ready, now, for what needs to be done.*

It took her entire will not to wrench away from that touch, but at least she was able to keep herself to herself. Whatever weakness he had found in her armor before was no longer there, and though she felt him all around her, he could not penetrate within. It was her will, not his, that now spurred her forward, her true target dancing in her mind. After all, one did not go up against a god unprepared...

"I am ready." Quietly she rose to her feet, leaving her tears untouched. "I know what must be done."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An explanation of Elvhen time as kept in Arlathan: 
> 
> hand - five days  
> span - 100 years


	20. Plans Within Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "A wise man gets more use from his enemies than a fool from his friends."
> 
> \-- Baltasar Gracián

.~^~.

"They are here."

Even before the Darkness at her side made the observation, her keen eyes had discerned the moving shadows in the black of the night sky, taking careful note of where the stars were blocked out by the large winged beasts that moved at the Magisters' beck and call. She settled in to wait, her white fur a direct contrast to the black void next to her. A small twinge of satisfaction went through her as he flinched back from the color, though it meant nothing more than that she preferred white fur. It simply wasn't... _dark._ And anything that wasn't _dark_ had the potential to mean that he had no  _control._

Not that she'd given him any reason to think he lacked control of her. The Imperium's invasion of Elvhenan was proceeding according to plan: the outer cities and towns, long since weakened by the slow influx of the taint and an increasing number of slaver raiding parties, had fallen before the inexorable march of the Magisters and the Dragon Knights mounted upon their drakes. A populace already demoralized by the unexpected and unfathomable prospect of widespread _illness_ and _aging_ put up only a token fight before the might of the Imperium, and so the already culturally isolated world of the Elvhen grew ever smaller with each passing decade as the reach of the Imperium grew proportionally. Finally, the massed might of the Tevene reached the outermost boundaries of Arlathan, that which would originally have been held impenetrable by the keen eyes and powers of the Guardians. Now the Guardians, empty statues as they were, had been claimed as war prizes, taken to Minrathous as proof of Tevene conquest of the Elvhen.

The moment when the last one had passed from sight still haunted Tallathian, but not as much as seeing the empty vessels of what had once been her family.

Still, even with the loss of their first and oldest defense, the greatest city of Elvhenan would not fall easily. The Guardians were not, after all, their _only_ defense. Had that been the only problem encountered by Arlathan, it might yet have outlasted its attackers, the Elvhen enduring as they had done for countless aeons before human foot had ever touched Thedosian soil. Yet the shadowy influence of the Darkness and his agents had subtly penetrated far more than just the perimeter of Arlathan.

Almost as if their thoughts moved through the same dark channels - a fear that grew in her with every passing year - he chuckled and moved closer to her, the edges of his aura mixing with her fur and darkening it to a filthy grey. "Your efforts to weaken them were inspired, my dear. Chaos and strife in the Council, the _halla_ not just rendered into dumb animals but driven forth as well, the mages fighting amongst themselves for supremacy, and all the rest jumping at shadows that may or may not harm them." The chuckle gave way to his odd laugh, the very air crackling with its intensity, and her fur darkened further in shuddering response. The voice drew closer, accompanied by a constant crackling and scraping since his very presence test the fabric of reality. The sheer amount of _magic_ required to keep him even this minimally corporeal would have killed any _normal_  mortal that wandered in its path, unless they were already accustomed to the raw power that was a God's presence.

_Such as the Chosen of Fen'Harel..._

"How did you manage to get them to distrust each other so readily? I can barely tell one apart from another. Different colors, different heights, different hair - meaningless differentiations. It was much simpler with the Minauri." He subsided for a moment, perhaps remembering those for whom he sought revenge, and her thoughts wandered their own path. Her light touch of chaos had successfully managed to drive wedges between the Elvhen based on which Creator they swore obedience, so that a follower of June would avoid one who bore the mark of Mythal simply because _they could not be trusted..._ or so the rumors stated. Rumors _she_ had started, with her disparate glamours and spells, the knowing winks and outright falsehoods, and the subtle knowledge of the Elvhen mode of thinking she'd garnered from aeon upon aeon of observation.

She shifted, tail curling up around her haunches, as she flinched away from the thoughts of what she had done these last few years. _Where is the Tallathian for whom even a lie was a grievous loss of truth?_

Letting the question burn, unanswered, in her thoughts, she looked out over the city once more. Instead of a broad plateau of lights with no interruption save for the quiet beauty of the Gardens, the points of illumination bunched together, as if those who remained in Arlathan and had not already fled or been taken by slavers huddled together, afraid of their fellow citizens. This separation, almost more than any other sign, showed ample evidence of her efforts over the past few spans. Her eyes narrowed as she snorted lightly. _Not so brave when the genocide threatens_ you _, hmm?_ Hating the thought, and hating more the bitterness and self-hatred that birthed it, her tail twitched as the vague flutter of hope winged through her soul.

The only _true_ hope for the spirit of Arlathan to endure.

For she knew that, in the midst of the maelstrom of the siege, those who bore the ragged brand of the Wolf upon their foreheads - a mark that should have borne the worst of the brunt of the internal hostility bubbling and broiling within Arlathan, a mark that had been liberally applied to even the most unlikely of offenders in those months leading up the siege - now went oddly unnoticed. The Wolf's people moved through the city without hindrance, quietly going about their own business, as around them the ancient civilization of Elvhenan turned against itself. But then, Geldauran had never truly understood the difference between one line of ink and another, save that they weren't all the same, and the apparent anomaly was as invisible to him as it was to the Council. And all she had to do was _not_ draw attention to them, concentrating her efforts on making the Council's collective gaze fall  _elsewhere_ , knowing that the Darkness would continue to overlook the efforts of the twins that led the covert forces of Fen'Harel...

_Arrogance._ As the word echoed through her mind, she wondered which of them was the most arrogant of all. Still, she was allied with the Darkness for a specific purpose, and _that_ had not changed. And it would not change even now, the night that the draconic elements for the final assault had been brought down from Tallo's Eye, hissing and snapping as the flame of their breath laid waste the final remnants of any resistance. The last outpost of Elvhenan outside of Arlathan had fallen to the dragons only a hand of days ago, and now their unstoppable force winged in deceptive patterns above the city, awaiting the signal for the final attack. The Old Gods and Geldauran would have their revenge against the Elvhen at last, and their human pawns would not understand what it had cost them until long after the price of their folly caused their own downfall...

_Arlathan will fall, I swear it. It is the only way to-_

"The Archon will be expecting an update."

Startled from her thoughts by his sudden words, her ears quickly swiveled, verifying that they were still alone. Digging her claws into the soil beneath her, she growled in acknowledgement of his words and began to rise, only to be stopped by his ephemeral weight on her back, his implied command far more effective than any physical pressure he could apply. She knew it chafed him that he could not yet fully manifest physically in Thedas, though she only had suspicions rather than factual knowledge as to why this was so. Still, even after all these years, the 'touch' of the Darkness made her skin crawl.

"You must not go like that, little shadow." A dark cloud wafted out and clouded her vision, sinking through the fur to her skin. "And you know I prefer you... otherwise."

Suppressing the inevitable shudder, yet holding on to her resolve to endure for the sake of her purpose, she shimmered into her native form, the white fur becoming white hair and pale skin silvered by moonlight. The tattooon her face still shone black - not even the Wolf had been able to restore it to its former lavender hue - but at least her eyes were once again the color of a flower rather than the night. The moment she became fully exposed in the moonlight, she was enveloped by the Darkness, bumps of atavistic reaction to his presence rising along her skin as he claimed her once more, a habit that had been increasing in frequency the closer his perceived ultimate victory drew. As he took what he considered to be full possession of her, she closed her eyes and _withdrew_ into that place he'd never been able to penetrate, not since she had allied with him by _choice_ rather than force _._ As her body reacted to his ministrations and her empty cries filled the night, her thoughts focused on keeping that last vestige of herself completely free of his influence and holding true to what must be done. She knew he did this to her to test his hold on her, and she could only hope he did not know that the hold was not as total as he assumed it to be.

_Hope..._ To rely on something so ephemeral had once seemed so antithetical to her being, to her _self._ Yet, as the Darkness relented in his assault and she slowly re-animated her body, it seemed that a fool's hope was all she _could_ rely on.

All else had failed her.


	21. The Shadow Within

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "There are things known and things unknown and in between are the doors."
> 
> \- Jim Morrison

.~^~.

"Well, the note was right. There's nothing here." More resigned than sarcastic, Arahel looked around at the weed-festooned devastation around them. "Just a bunch of lavender flowers amidst the detritus."

"That is _not_  all it said, and you know it," she argued, then tightened her lips together as he grinned at her. "Just... just go stand over there, or something." Pointedly turning away from him, she regarded the blank spot behind the hedge of lavender bushes to which they had been directed by the latest of the anonymous notes left in their shared room. Her lavender eyes narrowed as she focused, though it took several minutes before she was able to see the very light shimmer in the air that had been detailed in the note. With a small frown of concentration, she brought her hands up and called energy from the Beyond as directed, unleashing it with a precise gesture. Despite the fact that the mysterious notes had never been wrong or harmful, this most recent one was distinctly... _odd._ "What do you think the rest of the note meant?" she asked as she funneled magic into the glint in the air before her, feeling something seize it and absorb it in a passive way. _Illusion? I've never seen one so thorough..._

"What, about looking for the one who shares your eyes when the fires glow brightest?" He shrugged. "There's always something odd in the notes, you know that. Although..." The admittance to come was reluctant, as every compliment had to be torn from Arahel with the Wolf's own teeth, "they have proven to be helpful on occasion in the past."

"Helped us never be caught by the Council, you mean. Helped us find books and Gardens we never would have known about otherwise. Helped us learn how to enter the Hall Outside Time without supervision."

"Now _that_ was useful," he admitted. In a way, their early maturity and acceptance by the other cultists were linked to the covert knowledge that the twins could come and go freely from the restricted Hall. "It's a great advantage to know what goes on in there, especially when we can sneak in before a Session and hide. Even if we _were_ forced to learn how ineffectual the so-called leaders of Arlathan truly are..."

Before she could frame a proper retort, a high-pitched sound pierced the air, and the sensation of a spell breaking wrenched her attention sharply to her actions as she cut off the flow of energy she'd been slowly feeding into the emptiness.

"What was that?" Arahel snapped, looking around them wildly to make sure no one had discovered their clandestine activity. Satisfied that, for now at least, they were still alone, he turned and looked at what now stood before them. "What _is_ that?" he whispered. "I've never seen anything like it."

Andara reached out and touched the scarred frame of the tall not-quite-mirror, feeling the remnants of the powerful magic that had concealed it. As she touched the glass, however, instead of seeing a reflection of her hand, spots of white and grey moved over the surface, and the glass itself seemed to waver and shift. She gasped. "It's a Portal," she whispered. "An Eluvian."

Outside of the great Eluvian in the Hall itself - far too monstrous for any to hope to move - she'd never actually heard of an Eluvian within the bounds of Arlathan during her lifetime. Though a proud part of Elvhen heritage, the war with the Tevene had seen most of the Eluvians stolen and rendered forever out of Elvhen reach. It had been one of the most crippling tactics used against Elvhenan as a whole, for as each city's Eluvian was compromised, another region was rendered unreachable via magic, and the lack of communication had hastened the loss of many of their cities, particularly the remote ones.

At the suggestion of the notes many years ago, she had pursued a lifelong study of the Eluvians through books and by secretly accessing the one in the Hall, but she'd never expected to find one of the _original_ Eluvians intact. And this _was_ one of the originals, the ones that had been made by the First of the Elvhen with the aid of the Creators themselves. Her fingers hovered over the wolves that decorated the frame, scarred and burnt but still visible, and unconsciously traced the pattern she remembered very clearly from one of the oldest books in the library. She shivered as she realized that whoever had crafted this mirror must have been the First of Fen'Harel, all those aeons ago, the one whose name she had never been able to uncover in any of the records in the Great House of Knowledge - no great surprise, of course, considering the opinion most of the Elvhen held regarding the Dreadful Wolf. "And not just any Portal," she added, trying to include her brother on this monumental discovery. "The Eluvian of the Wolf."

His eyes widened, two pools of gold in the dim light. "I see," he said quietly. "That-- No wonder it was hidden by such a subtle spell. Something like this in the hands of the wrong people..." He glanced at the note in his hand, then shrugged and tucked it away. "So, we know that whoever left us this little missive considers us trustworthy enough to be caretakers for what is surely one of the last great treasures of Elvhenan. And we know they were quite insistent we take it _tonight._ I wonder why?" He grunted as he shook his head. "For _both_ parts."

Ever the more pragmatic of the two, she shrugged and gestured to the cart they had been told to bring with them under the cover of night. Since it was going to transport such a delicate object, she sent a silent prayer of thanks to the Wolf that it was full of padding and blankets left over from last night's transportation of refugees to a secret staging point outside Arlathan. Andara expected the Council to call for a general evacuation at any time given the Imperium's sudden push forward, and her brother had expressed disgust that the Council had done nothing more than assure the people that they would withstand the Tevene onslaught. Meanwhile, the twins had been quietly moving the more vulnerable members of the Cult outside of Arlathan for months, and last night had been such a night, cloaked in darkness and guided by cleverness, a dash to the distant caves that had been revealed to her in a dream shortly after the siege had settled in around Arlathan. "Bring that closer. It's hard to move an Eluvian, but not impossible." As she moved her hands across the surface of the glass to quiesce it as she'd read about in her research, she felt an odd _response_ , as if someone had said her name from afar. In the distance, she heard a wolf's howl, and her hand pulled back sharply as her eyes snapped instinctively to the empty night sky. "Did you hear that?" she whispered.

He frowned as he dropped the cart, staring at her. "There's nothing to hear. Come on, stop scaring me. You know I hate the night of the new moon - it's when the Wolf is at his weakest." He shivered as he looked up at the sky. "Besides, the stars seem to be shifting their configuration tonight. It fills me with unease." He rearranged the blankets in the cart so that they were spread out appropriately for the rather large Eluvian. "The sooner we retrieve this, the better."

She nodded, turning her attention back to the device. Slowly she connected to the Beyond, pulling magic from it to seal the surface of the glass so that no stray touch would accidentally trigger what lay on the other side of its subtle glow. As the light sheen of magic touched the surface, however, a hand suddenly emerged and gripped her wrist. Before she could do more than gasp, it tightened around her and pulled her into the Eluvian.


	22. Beyond Fear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "...it was written, I should be loyal to the nightmare of my choice."
> 
> \- Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness

 

.~^~.

Her brother's cry was drowned out by a loud rushing noise, her body shuddering in pain during the unexpected transition from Thedas to the Beyond, a transfer usually only performed in death. Her muscles began to seize as the extreme cold gripped her, and as she struggled for breath her surroundings blurred. Slowly she began to succumb to the lack of air, her vision dimming with her consciousness.

Her unplanned journey ended with a jarring landing on uneven ground. She vaguely felt a hand, perhaps the same one that had pulled her in, grip her arm. To her immense relief, her ability to breathe returned with the touch, and remained even after the hand fell away. As she gulped huge lungfuls of odd-tasting air, the hand changed from a familiar four fingers and thumb into a black fur-covered paw right before her widening eyes, and with a shudder she turned to look at the one who had haunted her dreams and nightmares - particularly her nightmares - since her youth.

A calm gaze of amber gazed at her from the midst of black fur. Her newly restored breath hitched as those eyes narrowed slightly, and she sat as still as possible while he stalked around her, a low and steady growl filling the air. Somehow he seemed to grow, swelling until he was taller than a _halla,_ and still he paced around her, the air filled with the noise of his apparent displeasure.

Slowly she shifted her position until it was one of obeisance rather than fear, kneeling as she did in her dreams. She wanted to watch him in fascination but feared her direct stare might upset him. The rumbling faded following her actions, and a deep voice growled, "You're late."

Furrowing her brow in confusion, she ventured, "I apologize, Dreadful One. The note did not specify a time other than tonight."

A hot breath wafted over her as he snorted in apparent disdain. "What note?" he growled. "I talk of my warnings in your dreams, not some scribblings on a piece of paper. I've never found that method to be very reliable."

She kept her head bowed, grateful to hide her confusion from her God. When he had mentioned her tardiness, she had immediately suspected he had to have been the author of the notes: who better to steer the twins along such an ambitious but safe path if not their God? Confronted now with a new mystery to add to the old, she decided to at least tackle the one before her. "I'm afraid I don't remember any-"

His growl increased in volume, and she quickly shut her mouth and bit her lip, not wishing to invite his irritation, much less his wrath. "It doesn't matter. There is still time to do what must be done." Again she felt hot air blast over her as his nose lowered to her shoulder.

Licking her lips, she took a fortifying breath before speaking once more. "What is your will, Dreadful Wolf?"

His great hulk towered easily over her as his nose moved from her shoulder to nose at her hair, and she tentatively lifted her head enough to glance at her environs. She was in a clearing on a small hill. Around her in a circle stretched ankle-deep grass, dotted with daffodils in various stages of their life cycle. At the perimeter of the almost perfectly circular clearing she saw gorse and thistle, gnarled trees and knotted pines, and though it was night, a subtle light shone over all. Daring to glance further up, she saw a large moon - far larger than it could ever be on Thedas and tinged a vibrant red for the harvest, pregnant with the weight of _expectation._ Her tongue crept out to moisten her lips again, and she almost fell forward in startlement as a huge breath suddenly blew her hair forward.

"My will requires more than your obeisance," came the response, though it sounded not in her ear this time but in her _mind._ "Tonight Arlathan falls. Needs must I be there, but I cannot do so without your aid."

Even as she struggled with the sheer breadth of the phrase _Tonight Arlathan falls_ , she stammered, "W-why can't you-"

A growl, heavy with menace, silenced her. "That is _not_ your concern."

Heart racing, she bowed her head once more. Exhaling forcefully, she allowed habit and training to take over from uncertainty and doubt. She could never remember a time when the Wolf had not stalked her dreams, and deep down, she had always felt a greater personal connection with him than she could explain through logic. Certainly he seemed to give Arahel and her much more attention than he did to other members of the Wolf Cult, so much so that they had become the de facto leaders of the order, despite their young age. She had always assumed it was her status as a mage that had drawn his attention more to her than even Arahel, but now, with his breath so close and her body shuddering in physical reaction to his proximity, she began to wonder...

Filled with a sudden daring, she turned and looked up, meeting the amber gaze with her own lavender one. "I am yours, Dreadful Wolf."

It was as if a chill wind had blown over the tableau, freezing woman and Wolf. For a moment she felt as if she had awoken something, something which  _hungered..._ but she sensed it was not prey he sought. For a moment, she remembered the odd rumors, of women who woke after a night of him in their dreams who bore more than memories as their wombs expanded in the following months... Mouth suddenly dry, her hand moved reflexively to her throat, unsure how to react to the sudden surge of _longing_.

The Wolf abruptly turned away, huffing as he paced around her once more, a restlessness she knew she would never understand driving him. "You should call me by my true name," he growled. "You should call me Fen'Vhenan."

 _Wolf of the Heart?_ "It shall be as you say, Fen'Vhenan," she responded with surety. And now that the _oddness_ of her initial interaction with him was... well, if not gone, then pushed aside at his demand, she bravely uttered the other question burning within. "You said... Arlathan will fall. Surely not... surely we just need some more time to-"

The growl echoed in the air again, and she quickly bit off her words, sensing his anger. "While it may be common to claim that time is meaningless to the People, it is _not_ meaningless to _shemlen,_ and they mean to use it recklessly - and many of them will spend the entirety of it tonight. Be that as it may, the fate of Arlathan was sealed many spans past, before you were born. Some corruption takes longer to gain a hold than others, but in the end all corruption can be lethal if not counteracted at the proper time." Again that growl, and she saw his claws dig into the ground beneath his paws, leaving deep gashes in the grass.

He snorted and pulled away, his body dwindling and changing until an elf with black and gold hair and ebon skin stood before her, those piercing eyes seeming able to read her very thoughts. "It is time to return. There are certain matters that only I can attend to, but you will have much to do tonight to ensure that which must survive is removed from Arlathan." He paused, and now an incredible sorrow filled his face, all the more heartrending since it was a face that did not seem crafted to display much emotion. Leaving the sentence unfinished, he held out his hands. "Take my hands. Take _me._ "

She certainly was not going to start questioning him now, not after all the spans of obedience. With only a moment's hesitation, she lay her hands within his, meeting his eyes with the remnants of her earlier daring, and waited for whatever came next.

In the next instant, it seemed, she was stumbling into the arms of her frantic brother, who quickly pulled her into him, smoothing his hand over her hair while murmuring meaningless questions into her ear. _I wasn't gone_ that  _long,_ she wanted to object. "I'm fine," she assured him, grateful for his support. "I'm fine." For a moment, the greatest fear of all flared in her heart, the fear of _losing_ him. She could face _anything_ except that horrifying prospect. Instinctively she tightened her arms around him, drawing him closer.

 _This one will do,_ a voice echoed in her head, and she stiffened in Arahel's arms, eyes flying open in shock. "Fen'Vhenan?" she whispered.

Before she could offer a prayer or do more than wonder at his suddenly intimate presence, Arahel choked a gasp and fell away from her, hands at the sides of his head as he staggered a few steps away. Almost in a panic, she rushed to him and latched onto his arms, telling him it would be all right.

And then, between one breath and another, her brother changed, hair lengthening and taking on black and gold hues, his skin darkening to match the night sky above them. Slowly he straightened, arms stretching up and away from his body, and Andara gasped and fell back, stopping only when she ran into the cart behind her.

Fen'Ha- _Vhenan_ turned to her, bold amber eyes shining slightly in the dark, and regarded her with a slight grin.

"Come. There is much to do." With a commanding gesture for her to follow, he stalked to the Eluvian, clearly intent on moving it first.

And if Andara noticed the sudden appearance of a red harvest moon far too large for Thedas in the night sky above, it failed to register through the other shocks that had shaken her world already.

Even if she had noticed, there was nothing she could do about the consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An explanation of Elvhen time as kept in Arlathan: 
> 
> span - 100 years


	23. Root and Tree

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “A song she heard  
> Of cold that gathers  
> Like winter's tongue  
> Among the shadows  
> It rose like blackness  
> In the sky  
> That on volcano's  
> Vomit rise  
> A Stone of ruin  
> From burn to chill  
> Like black moonrise  
> Her voice fell still...”
> 
> \- Robery Fanney

 

.~^~.

Tallathian paused as she stepped from the command tent, her meeting with the Archon of the Imperium forgotten as she saw the abrupt addition to the night sky, flagrant enough that even the _shemlen_ were pointing at it in wonder. The reddish light of the sudden full moon, a full fortnight ahead of its time, glinted off of the scales of the dragons that flew in the air, and she knew that had they had an element of surprise, it was now lost.

And yet, the sudden appearance of the eldritch and hauntingly familiar moon was _not_ why her pulse sped and her hands clenched. Before she realized what she was doing, her feet had taken her at full speed across the camp, dodging between hulking men and shrinking elves, ignoring all in her path as she strove to gain a better vantage point. She _knew_ what the harvest moon meant, whose presence it presaged, and she also knew what would happen as the moon asserted its presence in the heavens and began its inexorable pull. The new moon had already drawn the spring tides to Arlathan, but this abrupt appearance of the mystical force of the Wolf's Moon...

Somewhere between one step and the next, feet shifted to talons, and a white peregrine dodged both branch and leaf as it soared up, up into the sky, giving her a vantage not only of the camp of the Tevene - where the signal fires to begin the final assault were being lit - but also of the great spread of Arlathan, including the wide river that wended its way through the metropolis, fed by the Nocen Sea to the north, a sea that straddled two large plates deep below its surface, a sea that had once been an ocean before the first War of the Gods, so long ago that not even _she_ knew more than remnants of whispers. All she knew was that the War had ended not with one side victorious, but with most of the inhabitants of Thedas lost beneath the waves as the rage of the Gods of that time had cracked the very land to do their bidding.

One of the greatest magics of Arlathan had been the spells placed by the First of the Elvhen around the Hall and the Tree at the city's Founding, magic holding the previous violence of the land beneath the surface at bay. Even as she reached the zenith of her flight, she _saw_ the water jump and surge far, far in the distance at the mouth of the river where it met the Nocen Sea, and cried in terror at the sight. The Sea Gods who had helped to mitigate the disaster before were lost in slumber, and the overly large moon's appearance - particularly _this_ Moon's appearance - above Thedas when no moon was due to be present at all had triggered the inevitable response. Far up north, were she to make the journey, she knew she would find that one end of the plate upon which half of the Nocen Sea and half of Arlathan rested had shifted, pulled from its place by the calamitous moon, and that movement had initiated the cascade of tremors that would soon reach Arlathan.

_Disaster._

Feeling the pressure of catastrophe moving swiftly towards Arlathan, she whipped around and dove sharply, following the ever present sense of the First Tree. She had to find her precious cache of Seeds - the quiet work of the last few spans - and make sure that her plans were not completely disrupted, or all was lost.

The First Tree, still the greatest natural landsmark in the city, jutted proudly upwards as the sole rival of the Hall Outside Time in terms of size. As she settled onto its lowest branch and assumed her natural form, the ripple in the earth that had started far to the north finally reached Arlathan.

She felt herself thrown from her perch as the massive force took the ground and shook it, felt the magical barriers of protection around the First Tree shatter from the force - although, she noticed with relief, those around the Hall remained intact. The shaking continued even as her head slammed against the ground with enough force to make the world swim. As she desperately tried to recover enough to go about her tasks, her vision wavered, making it nigh impossible to do more than rest on her hands and knees as she sucked air into her lungs, fighting nausea. Around her, shrieks and cries filled the city as the ground heaved and groaned, and for a bare second she was once more in the very first home of the Elvhen, on the other side of mountains far, far to the west: a land that now lay desolate and empty.

Fighting off tears of pain and fear, she crawled gracelessly to the little niche between some of the smaller roots of the Tree, almost sobbing with relief when she found it still accessible, though around it the soil and larger roots simmered and roiled with the shuddering of Thedas all round her in helpless response to the pull of the magnificent, uncaring moon above. Desperately pulling the bag of seeds from their hiding place, she clutched it to her chest, her pain and focus making her for the moment oblivious to the growing chaos around her. For a timeless moment, she treasured the sensation of life in these seeds, the first seeds produced by the First Tree in aeons, brought forth after year upon year of pleading and cajoling with the Tree itself in the dead of night when Arlathan lay asleep.

The hope again awoke within her. _This, at least, would be saved._ The seeds must be planted outside of Arlathan, to keep the energy of the Tree alive in the Beyond so that no matter what happened here, the Elvhen would remain fertile. They wouldn't be as long-lived, and they wouldn't be able to resist the taint that Geldauran had unleashed, but at least, as a People, they would survive. Just as the seed for the First Tree had itself come from the first home, gone for so long she could no longer remember its name, the seeds she had gathered would maintain the link with the Creators, no matter where the Wolf sent them.

It was only after the first great shuddering passed that she heard the _other_ sounds: of trees lit on fire by the dragons swooping overhead, of drakes with warriors upon their backs flooding the streets of Arlathan, of Magisters drawing upon the blood magic that they had schooled themselves in over the centuries, of the screams of her People as they were confronted by the very thing their Council had told them would never happen..

And, deep beneath the surface, the most terrifying sound of them all: the long, low groan at the very lowest edge of hearing: the warning sound that preceded the emergence of that which had destroyed the first home of the Elvhen.

Closing her eyes, she collapsed onto the ground and used magic to force her awareness down, beneath the roots of the tree, past the slip and crack in the plate that had already shifted, seeking to determine if her newfound fears were valid.

_The liquid stone, hot as the center of Tallo's Eye, sought a release, as it had for aeons beyond reckoning. It lay under much of the land, the constant pressure of the liquid heat below constantly pushing it up, ever up, in its never-ending search for a way to the surface._

_And now, the shaking of the earth had created one._

With a cry she sprang to her feet and swung around, her plans abruptly scattered to the four winds. Seeds still clenched in her fist, she turned and ran from the First Tree, looking for those who bore the Wolf's brand. The seeds had to leave Arlathan in the hands of free Elvhen, and she had made sure her children were prepared for such a task, even if she were their mother in nothing more than body. The constant stream of her notes over the years had done their work in acclimating them to cautious obedience, and she knew they had not questioned her anonymous missives in years. Hopefully that trend had continued through tonight, when it was most essential...

Behind her, the battle became fully engaged as the mages of Arlathan met the full might of the Imperium - and held against it. Arlathan was not helpless, after all, merely weakened, and all the remaining resources had been devoted to its defense, including the oldest and greatest mages in the entirety of Thedas.

Pity that the lava would not distinguish between Tevene and Elvhen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An explanation of Elvhen time as kept in Arlathan: 
> 
> aeon - 1000 years  
> span - 100 years


	24. Never Stop Moving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “The future is uncertain but the end is always near.”
> 
> \- Jim Morrison

.~^~.

Andara was prevented from being thrown to the ground by the strong grip on her elbow. "Wh-what was that?" she gasped.

The Wolf, still in her brother's body but maintaining whatever magic he used to keep to his own appearance, only shook his head. "A whip to our heels. We have much to do and little time in which to do it. Arlathan will fall, but the Elvhen will not be lost." He let her go long enough to make sure the Eluvian was still secure under its heavy cover of many blankets, then heaved the cart into motion once more. "Come."

She scrambled after him, trailing the cart with one hand on its rail to make sure it remained level. They'd added to its weight during their winding trek to the outskirts of Arlathan and the freedom beyond its borders. Some of the items they'd stowed in the bed of the cart she could understand, but others mystified her. Books and magical artifacts seemed obvious candidates for preservation, but the stones he'd sought out and placed in the cart, and some of the plants they'd carefully dug up and retrieved from the Gardens left her curious and confused. The implications frightened her: would Arlathan's fall destroy not only the city but the very land upon which it rested? For that matter, why was he so insistent that its demise was imminent? They'd passed enough dead soldiers wearing Tevene armor and dead drakes painted with the colors of Tevinter to show that Arlathan's defenses were not entirely helpless, and she'd watched a dragon struck from the sky with her own eyes, though it had been in the distance.

She shook her head, her mind still reeling from everything she had seen and heard tonight. Her lip had a welt worried into it from all the bites it received when she allowed her thoughts to wander. _Why_ was Arlathan doomed? Why did the Wolf seem so indifferent to its fate? If the Wolf hadn't been leaving them notes that had obviously, inretrospect, been preparing them for life after Arlathan, who had? Yet every time she opened her mouth to inquire, a low growl stifled the question, leaving her thoughts whirling inside her head.

The ground moved and rumbled almost constantly beneath them, forcing her to concentrate on her footing as well as the cart's balance. It was only when a hand landed on the railing of the cart next to her that she realized they weren't alone. Startled, she looked at the man helping her keep the cart upright, then glanced back over her shoulder.

Behind them stretched a long string of the People, most of them unfamiliar to her. She recognized several of the faces in the crowd, and identified several more by the ragged brands that proclaimed their allegiance to the Cult of the Wolf. Yet most of those following did not bear the Paw etched into their foreheads. Elves from all walks of life trailed after them, bags and children on their shoulders or held in their arms. Giving up her place after the cart, a place quickly taken by another , she jogged up to walk at the Wolf's side for a while. Pointing at the large - and growing, as stragglers had swelled its ranks even in the last minute - group of people trailing after them, she inquired, "Did you-"

"The Elvhen will endure," he replied curtly. "In dreams, I spoke to my followers: when my moon appears over Arlathan, do not question it. Gather what you can of belongings and kith and kin, and find me." He looked back at the ever-increasing size of the horde. "I see it more as a mark against the Council that so many obey the Wolf's Cult so readily, but I will not argue. I will ensure that this remnant remains free of the Tevene and flourish until Arlathan rises again."

For the first time that night since returning from the Beyond, hope stirred in her heart. "Rises?"

The Wolf snorted. "If you are fortunate, you will live to see its return." He paused and lowered the handles to the cart. "Another wave comes."

Immediately she turned to the cart and hunkered down next to it. This time the tremor was more of a roar, and lasted for longer than her shaky count could manage, though she reached thirty before losing track entirely. Once the heaving and cracking stopped, she realized her grip on the cart had failed, leaving her huddled in a trembling ball on the ground. Around her were the cries of children and the retching of those who couldn't withstand the assault of the shifting ground. After a minute or so of gasping, she was able to regain her feet, using the cart to climb, and checked to ensure the contents were safe. Once she was satisfied, she turned to go help the people, but a hand restrained her. "They'll be fine in a few moments." He pointed back towards the east of the city, the direction from which they had come. "The tremors will continue, but they are no longer our greatest for."

Quickly she turned and gaped. The sky above Arlathan had turned an eerie crimson, as if it had caught fire, and heavy, black smoke was rapidly filling the air. As she watched, a spurt of something red pushed up towards the sky and then fell in a graceful arc. "What is _that_?"

"Fire from the center of the world," he replied softly. "It will raze and preserve Arlathan for when the time for it to rise comes upon us, and ensure that neither the Tevene nor any _shemlen_ will besmirch it in the interim. The Hall must be kept out of the hands of those who would abuse it." His face fell into an angry expression. "Since my hand was forced on the matter of Elvhenan's failure, it seemed the best compromise."

"Forced-?"

Again he cut her off. "Keep moving. Even I cannot halt the fires of the Deeps once they have been freed."

Fear replaced her apprehension and confusion, and she quickly moved to her place at his side and followed him to the west and south, away from the fire and up the hill that led away from the valley in which Arlathan rested. _Odd, that's the same direction the notes directed us._ Again the thought rose in her mind. _But if Fen'Ha-_ Vhenan _did not write the notes, then who-?_

Her musing were interrupted by the screech of a dragon who soared overhead, obeying the goad of its Tevene masters. It ignored the stream of refugees leaving the city in favor of pressing the attack against the city center where, judging by the surge of magic and flashing lights, the last mages of Elvhenan were making their final stand. Suddenly grateful to look so helpless, Andara fixed her eyes upon the odd-shaped peak that marked their destination, unwavering in her faith and trusting in the Wolf's path.

Any other option now seemed far more terrifying.


	25. The Enemy Within

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "A nation can survive its fools, and even the ambitious. But it cannot survive treason from within."
> 
> \- Marcus Tullius Cicero

 

_art by[Cheesiestart](http://cheesiestart.tumblr.com/)_

.~^~.

Tallathian had given up on her native form during the second round of tremors, shifting to fur and taking the bag of seeds in her muzzle as she continued her search. She could feel Geldauran looking for her, his rage and suspicion growing, but she could not leave this task undone. Time was precious, and only grew more so as it passed. When she found the stream of refugees, now grown to an impressive number and almost beyond the boundaries of Arlathan, she suspected she had found them at last. Dancing unseen around them, she searched each of the branded faces for either her own eyes or the golden ones of Liniathalan, but found neither.

As the last of them disappeared into the thick forest that grew around Arlathan, she abruptly felt the unmistakable resonance of that which had been in her home for years beyond counting and automatically turned towards it. _The Eluvian had been saved._ Relief blazing in her mind, she hastened her steps to its source, certain that the ones she sought would be there.

She slowed when she heard voices. _A man and a woman. Perfect._ Smelling an open area ahead, she snuck close enough to see dimly through the foliage. A woman who bore features similar to her own, and with eyes of vibrant lavender, was deep in consultation with another. She began to move forward when a familiar scent reached her nostrils, and she froze.

_Fen'Harel._

She watched, unable to move, as he stepped back and gestured to Andara and two other elves, who obediently pushed the cart into motion. As they disappeared through the foliage, he tilted his head and then turned, looking directly into her hiding place.

"Tallathian."

The greeting was clipped and harsh, and it broke her heart.

Despite their time together in the past, despite their love, she was, at best, no better than an annoyance and at worst, judging from his tone, the enemy. All this time, no matter what she had done, she had hoped, deep down, that he would accept the words in her last note to him... but apparently, it had not been enough. His mind was set, his judgment made, and she knew how difficult he was to sway once he had done so.

Yet she could not simply... _leave._ Bracing herself, she assumed her own form, drawing the glamour of a cloak around her to lessen the impact of his gaze. The bag of seeds was tucked into her belt as she nodded curtly. "Fen'Harel."

A growl answered her words, his only sign of displeasure at her choice of name for him. Yet he would never be Fen'Vhenan to her again. Turning, he pointed into the distance. "Behold."

Hesitantly, she moved forward and did as she was bade.

He had indicated a point where a break in the greenery around them afforded an excellent view of the Arlathan valley. She saw the redness of the fires below glint off the scales of the dragons and drakes as their riders pressed in for a final assault, sensing the demoralization the tremors had caused among the ranks of the Elvhen. She heard, even at this distance, the cracks of the whips and the cries of her people as they were taken, changed by shackles from free to enslaved, pushed into a long line heading north and west of Arlathan: a line consisting entirely of elves claimed for the slave masters of Minrathous. The refugees of Fen'Harel were not the only elves to escape Arlathan's end, but they were the only _free_ elves to do so.

And she saw her hand in _all_ of it.

She saw the redness in the sky above the volcano, deepening in color and cloud cover as it continued to spew more lava. Even from here, the sounds of shifting ground were audible, and she saw the trees and buildings that blazed, lit by the fire that marched across the city inexorably. It was slow, the march of that liquid fire, but unstoppable. _Not long before the Tree and Hall will be buried,_ she acknowledged, a fillip of urgency rising in the back of her mind. Weakened as the ground was by the tremors, she suspected that the heat would be the final straw to rip it open and drop most of Arlathan into the caverns below. Her eyes stung as she contemplated the lives lost, not only those who would fall with Arlathan, but all those in _uthenera_ in the Halls of Sleep throughout the city. Had she a God to pray to, she would have asked for safety on their journey to the Beyond.

But Fen'Harel had exiled the Creators... and she no longer cleaved to _him_.

She silently watched the glow of the burning city from the hilltop, eyes stinging as tendrils of smoke caressed her. The hood of her cloak only partially obscured the sight of the destruction of her home, a home that she had seen built from the first stone and tree. Unshed tears stood in her eyes as she fought to understand the magnitude of her own failure and the depth of the betrayal she had committed. The heat from the fire reached her even across the great distance, and the low rumbling told her that the ground still shook as the netherworld slowly pulled the city into its cold, uncaring grasp.

A hand fell on her shoulder then, a hand that managed to convey a possessive hunger and absolute command through its tight grip. His shadow leaned close to her, and the soft, insouciant voice murmured into her delicately pointed ear, "Come, my pet. We have far yet to travel, this night."

She turned and regarded him for a moment, her eyes searching for and finding the amber glow of his own. "Master, please..." she whispered, unwilling to take that first step on their journey away from the only home she had known for so long. "I-"

A hand slashed across her face, the open palm lessening none of the sting, none of the pain. Blood trickled down her cheek from the deep wounds left by his claws. The disdain was clear in his voice as he said, "Do you not think you have done enough?" Without waiting for an answer, he turned and strode into the trees, away from the fires and chasms behind.

She stood frozen in place as his words scorched her mind far more powerfully than the blow. The tears came then, silent and unbidden, covering her cheeks as the full import of her actions finally hit her. Her shoulders slumped as she took first one shuddering breath, then another.  _I have no right to mourn,_ she thought in despair. Clutching the bag at her side to reassure herself that the seeds within were unharmed, she lifted her head and discerned a faint outline as he disappeared into the forest. Without looking back, she forced her feet to follow in his footsteps. The burden grew heavier on her shoulders as she moved forward, and the regret within her breast threatened to stifle the beat of her heart. Yet she moved forward as her Master bade, for none could deny the Master.

And behind them, burning before the might of Tevinter, Arlathan slowly fell into darkness.

It wasn't until she was about to step into the heavy foliage that she paused and looked back, a thought penetrating the thick veil of guilt and sorrow. _The true enemy yet remained._

In that instant the haze of obedience that the Wolf had instilled in her with his touch dissipated. She struggled to understand _why_ he had done so, the glamour he had attempted to put around her mind so thick she could almost taste it. She rubbed at her cheek, fingers coming away bloody, and she realized that the wound had been intentional, to call forth the power in his claws and her blood so she would do as he bade. In that instant, the rage returned.

_The true enemy yet remained._


	26. Never Forgive, Never Forget

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Elvhenan, ultimately, had no greater enemy than itself."
> 
> \- Tallathian, Journals of the Great Traitor

.~^~.

"So only you are allowed to do what must be done?" Tallathian demanded, words ringing with accusation. "Is that all we have to look forward to? You lead and we follow? You bark and we grovel?"

Fen'Harel rounded on her, and she took several steps back into the clearing at his approach, though she didn't turn away. "I am the only one who _can_ do what must be done!" He grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her around to face the madness below, gripping her tightly. "Perhaps you need another view to remember what you are, and who _I_ am."

His touch made her tremble as fear and longing warred with each other. She couldn't help but let loose a small gasp, and his fingers tightened in response to it, his ears as keen as ever. Forcing herself to concentrate on the matter at hand, she turned her head away from the tableau in the valley. "No, I do not." She welcomed it as he pulled her back against him, the scent of his rugged musk washing over her. Her eyes closed, memories rising and receding as she forced herself to remember how little time remained.

"Then _why?_ " he said harshly. She had instinctively turned her face away from the shoulder over which his chin hovered, and so his breath blew hot on her exposed neck. Something shifted in his scent, and his hands slowly began to move from her shoulders down to her hands, manipulating and massaging her flesh along the way. The breath got hotter as his mouth grew closer to her neck, but it stopped short of full contact. _"Why?"_ he whispered softly, and the barest touch of his lips on her neck made her shiver.

She struggled for an answer, her body crying to respond as it had for so many aeons before the recent breach between them. She _wanted_ to tell him why: that the punishment of the Elvhen was inevitable, and she had deemed it as necessary as he had deemed the exile of the Creators. That though it might cut at her heart to be the one to arrange it, still must Elvhenan become a memory and her people scattered to the four winds. She wanted to scream at him, to demand why he couldn't _see_ how Geldauran had manipulated the world for his own purposes, why he didn't realize how he unconsciously danced to the tune of the Dark God.

Instead, she slowly turned her head once more towards Arlathan, not truly seeing it. "Did you exile the Creators to the Beyond?" _Can you tell me this one simple truth?_

He growled and let her go, shoving her away from him with enough strength to force her onto her hands and knees. "And _still_ that is all you care about." She struggled to her feet as he began to pace. "Do you think I cannot smell his stench on you? Or see your hand in what has been happening down there? Had I not set in place certain measures aeons ago as a precaution, I wouldn't be able to sense what is occurring on Thedas at all because I am restricted to the Beyond, and _that_ , I don't know how you managed."

She blinked. She'd wondered why the Wolf had been so strangely absent, but it had never occurred to her that he was _unable_ to walk the surface of Thedas as easily as before. A suspicion lodged in the back of her mind. _When I was his Avatar, he could walk the world freely even when I was not with him. And now, I pretend to be one for Geldauran, and that one can_ almost _walk free in Thedas._.. Before she could pursue the thought further, she blurted out, "You stand in front of me and claim not to be here?"

"As with Geldauran, I found a vessel," he said acidly. "In this case, your son. I thought it appropriate, considering his father allowed Geldauran back into the world in the first pla-"

She didn't even stop to think: her hand lashed out, striking him across the face. As he reeled back from the unchecked force of her unexpected blow, she stood stock still, hands clenching and re-clenching while the rage swept through her, scouring away any of the desire and nostalgia she had felt but moments before. Had she not felt time creeping past, reminding her of how little of it she had left, she would have done more than a simple reprimand, but all the extra seconds were gone.

There was no _time._

No time to tell him that just as he had sought to teach the Gods a lesson in what they should never demand of their followers, her people had to learn a lesson of what they should never obey. No time to tell him that had her People truly appeased the lingering spirits of Minauri - which the Council had deemed _too demeaning to the pride of the Elvhen_ \- then Geldauran would not have had the opening to return, would not have been fed by a constant stream of fury and revenge from the living bones of his children as they lay, unavenged and unmourned, in the deeps below Thedas. No time to tell him that from such small morsels had Geldauran's might been sustained and eventually grown.

_For want of a small sorrow given from the Elvhen to the Minauri, great sorrow has been visited to the Elvhen by the gods of the Minauri._ The Elvhen would not perish as the Minauri had... but the arrogance of supremacy was now a lesson they must learn from the _other_ side. She had judged the Elvhen, being a part of them, but apart from them, as Fen'Harel had judged the Creators while he was a part, but apart from them.

"You are not the only one who can do what must be done," she hissed.

She saw him right himself, amber eyes gleaming in the semi-darkness with a reddish tint from the fire claiming Arlathan. She saw him take a breath, presumably to argue or correct her, and she felt his own wrath building anew, his inability to forgive as deep-set as her inability to explain her actions to him.

It had passed that point long ago, it seemed.

Instead, she reached down, pulled the bag of seeds from her belt, and threw them blindly in his direction. Adroitly he snatched them from the air as she turned and fled, away from the Wolf, back to Arlathan, forcing herself to focus on her final task: the preservation of the core of the Elvhen.

Her children were safe. Fen'Harel would sense the nature of the seeds and deduce what she intended. And if she did not perform this last act, the Elvhen would forever be trapped to the same limitations of the _shemlen_ , bereft of long life and an intrinsic connection to their Creators. And even though he would _still_ not tell her his culpability in their fate, she _had_ to hope that one day, Fen'Harel would free them from their exile.

After all, he would need them in the fight against Geldauran.

Again she adopted another form, this time of a dark grey wolf that would blend into the shadows, and settled into a flat run to the center of Arlathan. Dodging between the ranks of friend and foe alike, she was panting heavily by the time she arrived at the base of the First Tree, settling on her haunches as she eased back into her own form.

The lava was close. She could feel the edge of heat already, and knew that meant her time was numbered in minutes rather than hours. Calmly she stood and laid her hands on the trunk of the Tree, entreating it for one last favor. _Please, my oldest friend..._

Obediently, the roots pulled the ground open for her, and she allowed herself to fall into the hole it made, sighing as they closed over her and trapped her in the choking darkness.

The blood still streaming down her cheek from the Wolf's blow was a good start, but she pulled out the small knife she'd placed beneath the roots earlier - the knife made of the stone from the Hall Outside Time - and drew it quickly up along both forearms and lightly down her jugular. Sweat already poured from her brow and neck from the intensive heat, and she could feel the minutes of her remaining life ticking away.

The spells she wove were similar to that which had enslaved her family into the stone forms of the Guardians, and were rooted in the principle of the Elvhen practice of blood magic: the sacrifice of one's own blood, one's own life. Any mage knew the power of blood to enhance spells, though it was volatile. Many mages knew the source of the power of that blood, how to use it effectively for their own purposes, and how to avoid the pitfalls of that usage even if that aspect of blood magic had failed to make it into the discipline of the Magisters. But only the most talented mages of Arlathan knew of the purest, most powerful form of blood magic: that of willing sacrifice.

She deftly established a complicated tapestry of magic that could never have been accomplished alone in a study or with the blood of an reluctant victim. Grasping the power which flowed through her and meshing it with the almost endless green energy of the Tree itself, she restored the protective spells around the First Tree that had been shattered by the quakes that wracked Arlathan. What had taken her entire family to set in place at the Founding, she had to now accomplish with only the blood drained from her body, calling up the most powerful of the spirits of the Beyond to do her bidding. Still, she had been practicing magic for longer than Arlathan had been in existence, and though it was complicated, it was not impossible.

First, the preservation of the Tree: the lines of magic wrapped around it, root and branch and leaf - including around where she was ensconced - and settled into place. The lava began to creep around it, fighting to penetrate the barrier and failing before the power of the spells. Though the Tree would be surrounded and encased in lava, it would survive, to be recovered at a later time, the spells restored and strengthened so that they could withstand even such an assault as had destroyed them before. The First Tree was now safe, and when the time came for the Elvhen to again be linked to it, the long life the Tree provided would be restored.

Second, the preservation of her body in a state between _uthenera_ and death. Her soul would be absent, but the body would remain preserved, awaiting the return of its rightful occupant. Slowly she worked through most of the remaining available magic, fixing her body so that it would never quite die, shifting its nature enough that the protective spells would think it part of the tree and hold it unchanged until such a time as she could reclaim it. And if she never did... at least the body of one of the First of the Elvhen would be preserved. Even if no-one ever discovered her body, the First Tree would know and guard it, and the Hall Outside Time remember it.

And finally, as the lava fully surrounded the tree and her body took its last breath, she poured the final remnants of the magic into a last cut between Thedas and the Beyond, then jerked her soul violently from its longtime home. Bereft of flesh, her ephemeral remnant traversed the thin cut into the Beyond, a journey that could not be made in reverse without the benefit of a host. In such a state, most would quickly turn into but a shadow, flitting about the Beyond as nothing more than a faint memory of the mortal they had once been.

Yet for Tallathian, her purpose burned hotly in her mind, and she shimmered into a white wolf that began her hunt anew in the endlessly shifting landscape of the Beyond.

_The true enemy yet remained._


	27. Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Hope  
> Smiles from the threshold of the year to come,   
> Whispering 'it will be happier'...” 
> 
> ― Alfred Tennyson

.~^~.

Andara burst through the foliage, finding Fen'Harel still in the clearing, looking down into the cataclysm. He stood still as a statue, as if he could not tear himself away from the vision of Arlathan's disappearance. Even the Hall Outside Time started to slip beneath the surface, the ground beneath it giving way before the combined might of the tremors and lava. As she approached quietly, she heard him murmur, in a tone that could only be called mournful, "She's gone."

Unable to stop herself, she asked, "Who?"

The Wolf turned, and she stepped back from the burning in his amber gaze. She couldn't quite place if his expression was rage or despair, but it disturbed her to see either in her God. He reached out and gripped her chin before she could retreat too far, and for a long moment, he gazed into her lavender eyes as if searching for something... or someone. Finally he let her go and held out a rough linen pouch. "Take it."

Obediently, she took the proffered bag from him, then stepped aside as he stalked in the direction from which she had come. Puzzled, she tried to determine the contents of the package, and heard a telltale rustle within as she manipulated it. Opening it, she pulled out a scroll of vellum, white and supple. Unrolling it in such a way that she could see it by the light of the fire, her eyes widened.

It was a meticulous map of Thedas, marked at various places with several X's in red. In a flourish on the lower-right hand corner, marked with handwriting that was quite familiar after having received dozens of notes written in the same hand, were the words, _For the sake of our People._

Rolling up the map again, she reached in and pulled out one of the round objects still in the pouch. Her mage abilities detected an abundance of spirit magic in the little green sphere she withdrew, and suddenly she knew that she was looking at a seed. Perhaps even a seed of the First Tree, which had never flowered or even changed in her lifetime.

_For the sake of our People..._

Quickly restoring seed and map into the pouch, she tied the cord around its neck and secured it to her belt. Even if she never learned who had written the words, she knew that this last trust would be fulfilled, though it took her entire life.

She turned from the destruction of her home, knowing that nothing remained for her there. Her new life awaited her, somewhere far from the now empty plains and broken ground where once had stood her home.

Arlathan was gone, but her future remained before her.


	28. Fading Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "In order to know your enemy, you must become your enemy."
> 
> \- Chris Bradford, The Way of the Dragon

 

 

.~^~.

_the spirit roamed the featureless landscape with no knowledge of time, obeying its nascent instinct to avoid those who sought it out, no direction or destination in mind other than to always and forever wander the endless expanse around it without care, thought, or even awareness beyond the ever-present, all-consuming moment that it had always, always lived within_

_the spirit went where it willed, uncaring of the other denizens of this strange realm, until it arrived at a city, where a nascent sense of curiosity pushed it through the gates, looking about for someone it was vaguely surprised to find absent from the entrance halls of the great palace that soared in the a that did not truly exist_

_the spirit explored the city first and then the palace further, wandering the long halls of pillars and pondering the black and tainted nature of the place, struggling to remember why this state of things felt so wrong, an odd memory of gold lingering_

_and the spirit found a throne, occupied by a shrunken wisp of a figure that slowly turned its wizened head to look at his visitor, sadness in his eyes_

_and the spirit felt the overwhelming presence of Darkness and trembled_

_and the spirit_ awoke

Tallathian gasped as she suddenly  _remembered_ , her hands going to her throat as she bent over double and struggled to hold on to  _herself,_  fighting the sensation of life and memory and  _being_  flooding her with the power of the entire Tree. Only when the last twinge, the last echo, had passed through her did she dare take a shaky breath and straighten, trying to comprehend the scene before her.

She knew she was in the Golden City - she recognized the walls and the pillars, even the sconces which protruded from them - and yet nothing was golden. All in sight was covered with an inky blackness, and around her the keening of the taint rang, marking Geldauran's supremacy in this, the realm of another God. Shuddering, she took advantage of some aspects of the Beyond and pulled her 'body' away from touching  _anything_ , not wishing even one more second of contact with the hideous taint that was his primary weapon.

Her eyes returned to the sad, lonely figure on his throne. There were black-grimed skeletons around him,  _shemlen_  in nature, and she sensed that the  _source_  of the taint could be traced to them. Edging closer to one of them, she recognized the blaze of a Tevene Dreamer on the tattered robes, and grimaced as she also felt a very faint spark of true life within as well. "So," she murmured, "your Gods told you to walk the Halls of the Golden City, and you never questioned it?" A bubble of laughter awoke within as she saw the subtlety of the betrayal the Darkness had visited on his hapless pawns. "Ah, Geldauran used you - and your 'Old Gods' - as he used the Elvhen: for his own ends alone. A pity to see the Ancient Ones reduced to mere pawns at the head of the armies of the Darkness... But then, there is always a price to pay when dealing with him."

Gaze moving to the throne, she saw the shadow of what the People called the Focus flinch back from her, his shriveled features only vaguely familiar. "He cannot get rid of you completely, no," she mused quietly, "but he  _can_  lessen you and corrupt your influence on the world. And no one will even know it was  _he_  who unleashed this." She regarded the being the  _shemlen_  knew as the Maker for a long moment, then turned from him. Aiding him would not bring her closer to her true goal, though the entainting of the City was yet another factor to consider in her long-term plans.

_The true enemy yet remained._

The words would not leave her mind. As she flashed into the shape of a bird for speed and flew through the darkened City, she pondered what the next step should be.

 _Time has passed in Thedas. I need to learn how much._  She had no feel for its passage here in the Beyond. Yet with her body still wrapped in her spells of preservation, she could not return to Thedas without aid.  _So... a mortal host. I require an anchor in Thedas with a need of their own for a powerful ally from the Beyond. One vulnerable enough to be susceptible to suggestion and strong enough to be heard even here..._

Bursting from the gates of the City, she hovered in place for a moment, blinking as she realized that the City was now far removed from the rest of the Beyond.  _Odd. When did that happen?_  With a mental shrug, she dove to the nearest 'land', settling on its surface in a form familiar enough to manipulate easily, and dissimilar enough from her own true appearance that none would recognize her. The nature of the Beyond made it simple to hide thus, to disguise herself as a spirit.

So it was that for another timeless space she wandered, learning what she could of the events that followed Arlathan's destruction both through inference and through interrogation of those spirits who had gone to Thedas and returned. She investigated how the taint had affected the Beyond, which the  _shemlen_  now called the Fade, and also found to her dismay that the thin line between the two realms, the 'Veil', was even thinner now than it had been in her time.

She grew in knowledge and power, no longer held back by the strictures of flesh, and explored avenues of magic she would never have allowed herself to master while still in Arlathan. The habits of the mortal realm slowly fell away, though some were remarkably stubborn to fade. She never stopped turning expectantly to the false horizon, waiting for a black wolf to appear, every time a certain sound reminded her of the pad of a paw or a howl sent to a moon. In those moments, all she wanted to do was give up. Still, she persevered. All she had left was her purpose, her reason to continue existing. Neither time nor happiness were important: only the enemy mattered.

And then, finally, opportunity called.

A siren cry for aid, powerful enough to bespeak vast talent in magic and unfocused enough to indicate that training was, perhaps, lacking. Taking advantage of the fact her power remained greater than the other denizens of the Beyond so as to be the first to attend to this particular seeker, she found the source and reached out, touching a mind that rang with desperate need.

_I will aid you, if you will have me._

She felt the other mind shiver, then respond with an inchoate but overwhelming affirmative. Uncaring of what she needed to help the summoner  _with_ , she followed that acquiescence, pulling it around her to give her the final fillip of power she needed to exit the Beyond and pour instantly into the body in Thedas that awaited her.

She found herself looking through another's eyes, surrounded by a group of  _shemlen_  males. A thousand sensations flooded her at once, of scent and sight and sound: the smell of standing water, the vision of green trees overgrown with moss, the laughter of the  _shemlen_  as they closed in for the kill. One of them brandished his sword and took a menacing step forward as she regarded him calmly, pulling her attention from the ecstasy of being corporeal once more.  _What do you desire?_  she asked her still unknown host.

_Their deaths._

Feeling a grin stretch across their shared mouths, she complied - in her own preferred way. Pulling magic directly from the Beyond, she felt herself swell and shift into a form she had been anxious to use ever since Arlathan's end: the very totem animal of those who had destroyed Elvhenan. The pain of the change quickly receded as she swelled even further, reaching forward with her now enormous maw and seizing the torso of the man who had threatened her, tossing her head back and forth to cause him immense pain before throwing her head back and releasing him to fly - for a few seconds, anyway.

The shouts of terror at the sudden appearance of a High Dragon were sweet indeed, and the fight that followed was short and brutal. She took her leisure hunting down the cowards who fled, her new host enjoying their fear as much as Tallathian enjoyed the power she drew from their blood.

Still, eventually all the  _shemlen_  were dead, the energy of their blood taken and funneled in preparation of the spell to come, and she allowed the body to return to its own shape once more after landing near a large, still body of water. Kneeling at the edge, she leaned over the water, curious as to what she would find reflected back to her.

 _Interesting._ Her host was an astonishingly beautiful  _shemlen_ woman, young even by  _their_ standards. Taking a moment to tuck an errant strand of hair behind the odd round ear, she addressed her host, knowing no living being was close enough to see the apparently odd behavior of a young woman talking to her image in a lake. "What is your name, child?" she asked quietly, releasing the hoarded magic in a careful weave that surrounded her ethereal core and bound it. She had no wish to destroy the poor creature, but now that she had returned to Thedas, she had no intention of returning to the Beyond - whether this woman desired her continued presence or not.

_Flemeth, mistress._

"Flemeth." Tasting the name, she shrugged, then stood and regarded the land around them. It was wild, free and bursting with life: precisely what she needed after the endless and sterile Beyond.

_And what may I call you, mistress?_

Tallathian's lips curved into a smile. "You may call me...  _Asha'bellanar._ "

Subtly she probed her new host, seeking knowledge. "The anger within you still burns." _Revenge..._ this  _is a motive I understand well._ "Shall we attend to this paltry oversight?"  _And ensure I have complete control over you while doing so?_

The woman inside gave up her admittedly feeble struggling against Tallathian's hold on her and growled,  _Yes!_

Shifting once more into her new form, she took to the air and journeyed to the castle where even now a Lord was being laid to rest, killed by a rogue witch's powers. Even as she flew, however, her mind began devising how to attract Geldauran's attention without betraying her true intent. _He must think me dead. In this case, the truth will help my cause, if I imply it was Fen'Harel that exiled me to the Beyond and I had to wait for the correct circumstances to return to Thedas._ Most _of that is true, anyway._

Once they arrived at the castle, she drew herself up to hover above, letting Flemeth enjoy the sight of the people running and screaming like so many ants on the ground at the sight of her new body.  _As for Geldauran... it will be simple to convince him to let me resume my service to him. After all, he can't_ know _that I betrayed him, since I can say with absolute truth that I did not. Arlathan fell, even if I arranged its demise for_ my  _purposes rather than his. I will gain his confidence once more, and then I will begin my work anew._

For it was not his death which she sought, but  _revenge._

She wanted him weakened, isolated, hurting and as lost and empty as she had been after his machinations. She didn't want him to be destroyed until he had suffered everything he had done to her. She knew no mortal could destroy a God outright - they had a way of regenerating, particularly if they were prepared for their weakening - and thus she had to be very, very subtle indeed. All his plans, she would alter; his forces, she would divide and weaken; his goals, she would sabotage while seeming to work towards them. She would be the constant, invisible thorn in his side, and also the one sent to search for that thorn if ever he perceived it. She would be a servant unparalleled, the love of his existence, and then, when his final 'victory' was nigh, she would betray him.

She might not be able to destroy a God, but she could make sure that when the final blow landed, he would not want to survive .

 _The enemy yet remained..._  but he would not remain forever.


End file.
